


Coalescence

by flamethrower



Series: Re-Entry [19]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, GFY, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-01
Updated: 2011-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-23 12:59:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The five days of Kaazcint's Harvest Festival lead up to the wedding of Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coalescence

**Author's Note:**

> Betas betas betas: MerryAmelie, writestufflee, and.... er. If I forgot you, let me know. I fix!

Republic Standard Date 5200: 7/25th

Lars Farm, Kaazcint

Festival of the Harvest Moon, Day 1

_“Th’on swi et alla, A del de orrette.  Ye’ete pon far, y far ete.”_

Qui-Gon smiled and opened his eyes, not surprised to see Obi-Wan leaning over him with a wide smile and dancing blue-green eyes.  “You’re supposed to save that for the wedding,” he mumbled, still half-asleep.

“Since when do we do things in order?” Obi-Wan countered, laying his head down on Qui-Gon’s chest and draping an arm over his stomach. 

Qui-Gon laughed and took the smaller man into his arms, more than pleased to be awoken in such a manner.  “Very, very true.  I wonder if it’s too late to elope.  I daresay a distant cabin and a week’s worth of privacy would be just as nice.”

“Does this cabin have running water?  Running water is a requirement, Qui.”

“Oh, it would have to have that.  I’m too old to go about dancing in icy streams,” Qui-Gon said, and then laughed again when Obi-Wan bit him in retaliation.   

 _You are_ not _old,_ Obi-Wan sent, and then said, “Alas, I’m afraid it’s too late to elope, as our guests are already starting to trickle into the local port.  They might be a bit upset with us if we didn’t show up for our own ceremony.”

“Also true,” Qui-Gon admitted.  The need for secrecy was no longer so dire, but their friends had staggered out their arrival times in effort to keep quiet the growing number of Jedi on Kaazcint.  “And just imagine poor Ris, never getting to see his creations worn.”

“You’re only saying that because you still want to know what I’m wearing,” Obi-Wan teased.

Qui-Gon grinned and then rolled them both over so that he was on top of Obi-Wan, who drew in a surprised breath just before Qui-Gon kissed him.  “I’m far, far more interested in your lack of clothing right now,” he said, and Obi-Wan gave him a sly smile before grabbing hold of Qui-Gon’s hair and pulling him down for a second kiss.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Micah Giett stepped off of the transport that had brought them to Kaazcint and took a deep breath of fresh air.  “All right, I’m in love,” he proclaimed.

His wife turned her head to gaze in his direction, her beautiful green and gold eyes dancing with amusement.  “Dear, any place that smells better than Coruscant is worth loving.”

“True.  However, this?  This is _nice_.  It smells…crunchy.”

Tahl rolled her eyes and strode forward when he did, well-accustomed to matching her mate’s steps.  “Normal people call this autumn, Micah.”

The slender boy who walked behind them, cloaked and hooded against the chill in the air, spoke up.  “If you think it smells nice here, Masters, wait until we get to the farm.”

“That good, huh, Tuuvino?” Micah asked, grinning. 

“Absolutely,” the Zabrak Padawan responded with a cheerful smile of his own.  With his Master unable to escape from Council duties until the last moment, he’d been sent to join Micah and Tahl on their journey from Coruscant.  The older Padawans, Garen Muln and Bant among them, had elected to cram themselves into one vessel for the trip, and would arrive sometime tomorrow.  Theoretically.  Micah had the feeling that there might be a slight detour for the acquisition of a gift or three.

They caught a ride in the back of a hoverwagon being pulled by a speeder, driven by an older gentleman, who moved them along at a pace just faster than a brisk walk.  Micah sat gingerly down on the bed of dried grass in the wagon, only reassured by the presence of a great number of pleased adults and laughing children that it was a standard mode of transportation, and not a thriving bit of insanity.

 _It’s harvest, dear,_ Tahl’s voice rang in his mind as she gripped his hand, smiling.  _I suspect that it could be both.  Now show me what we’re seeing._

He obliged, opening the Lifebond between them so that Tahl could see through his eyes.  They watched the landscape of Kaazcint pass by at a sedate pace, but the town was not that far away and they were in no real hurry.  The trees that still had leaves were red and gold, with some strange violet leaves interspersed here and there on trees that looked imported instead of local.  They passed several fields on both sides of the road, some barren and waiting for snow, others filled with different types of gourds that the locals were collecting in more wagons like the one they rode on. 

“Everyone seems very happy,” Tahl commented, noticing that Tuuvino was already making friends with some of the other children his age.  There was a line of them sitting across the open back end of the wagon, which meant a dozen pairs of legs were hanging out over the road. 

“Everyone seems drinking-happy,” Micah retorted, grinning.  “I think the barrels got unplugged a bit early in the festival.”

“Too right!” one of the locals sitting nearby exclaimed.  “Opened a bottle last night, actually.”

The blond man by his side—his spouse, from the way he sighed and smiled tolerantly—elbowed the boisterous, dark-haired fellow.  “And it’ll be your own fault if there’s none left for the wedding.”

“How many weddings are happening this year?” Tahl asked, using Micah’s sight to focus properly in the other couple’s direction.

“Well, I can’t speak for other settlements, but in Falaft we’re just having the one,” the more sober of the men replied. 

“Our Jedi are getting married!” the first burst out, with such a proud grin on his face that the man might have been officiating the ceremony himself.

“It’s about fucking time, too,” Micah said, nodding and smiling when they both turned shocked eyes on the newcomers.

The shock quickly turned to humor and pleasure.  The couples introduced themselves; the men were Ishtan and Sev, locals in their thirties who had been together in one form or another since their early teens.  “So you’re Master Jinn’s chosen, huh?” Sev’s words were a touch slurred, even if his facilities were still largely intact.

“It would appear so,” Micah replied.

“Wow.  Aside from the Jedi bit, what did you two do to earn that honor?” Ishtan asked, the awe in his words telling Micah that Qui-Gon might have neglected to inform them of just how important the request truly was. 

“We’ve put up with each other since childhood,” Tahl said dryly.

“Guilty,” Micah added.

They parted ways in Falaft, Ishtan and Sev staying on the wagon to hitch a ride closer to home.  Ishtan confided in a low whisper that it was so Sev wouldn’t give new meaning to the phrase “falling off the wagon.” 

Tuuvino led them to the dirt track that led out to the Lars Farm, confident in his sense of direction from his visit a few months before.  Tahl and Micah walked together, hand in hand, following the young Padawan’s lead.  The air was crisp, and the scent of fall was indeed more obvious than it had been at the spaceport.  Micah enjoyed the feel of brisk, chill air brushing over his skin as he planted his staff firmly into the dirt with each step. 

He was, he admitted to himself, ludicrously excited to see his childhood friend again.  The correspondence that Garen had brought to the Temple from the farm had been brief but encouraging, and he wanted, more than anything, to see Qui-Gon happy.

 _I’m excited, too,_ Tahl confided, sensing his thoughts.  _Just think: four years ago I was despairing of ever seeing any of us happily bonded._

 _You should never have allowed Qui-Gon and I to become so oblivious to the feelings of those around us,_ Micah teased.  _Just think of all the time we could have saved!_

 _Allowed?_   Tahl grinned.  _Dear, I remember at last half a dozen times over the years that I told you I loved you.  You would smile, hug me, return the sentiment, and wander off._

 _Next time, try kicking me in the head,_ Micah suggested, squeezing her hand and feeling more happiness than he ever suspected he had the right to.  _Much more efficient._

“I hear lightsabers,” Tahl said out loud a few minutes later, when the top of a large gray barn had become visible up ahead.

Micah focused his hearing and listened, for his wife’s remaining senses were far more acute than his own.  “Hmm.  Sounds like we’re just in time for afternoon practice,” he agreed, listening to the distant clash and hum that was carrying through the air. 

“Wizard!” Tuuvino exclaimed, skipping ahead in excitement.  Micah thought about reeling in the boy before deciding against it.  He had just turned nine, and they were on holiday.  Besides, it was Mace’s blasted job to remind the boy about Jedi self-control, not his.  He’d raised enough Padawans.

“Have not,” Tahl murmured at him, a teasing grin on her face.

By the time they made it to the barn, the three visiting Jedi were just in time to witness a full-blown free-for-all match.  Despite the cool weather, all three humans had stripped down to their waists, and Rillian had thrown her bandoleer over a fencepost in order to keep cool.  Five blades were singing, slicing through the air and clashing as each member of the small group tried to take out the other.

Qui-Gon was sun-darkened and lean, his hair braided into a long tail that hung down to the middle of his back.  Despite the new threads of silver shining in his hair, Micah’s childhood friend looked healthier than he had in a long, long time. 

Anakin had grown again, and was at least six centimeters taller, if not more.  His Padawan cut needed a trim, and he was just as well-tanned as his older Master.  Anakin had always shown promise with a lightsaber, but now he was wielding his blade like a seasoned Knight.  Micah suspected it would be a long time before everyone grew used to such an incongruity.

Rillian had gone the two-blade route at last, and was dancing in the pattern of the Jar’Kai as if she’d begun training for it years ago.  Her blades weren’t the same color, but the copper and the sunshine yellow suited each other, and highlighted every move she made.  The Wookiee’s Padawan short braid flew out as she spun and deflected Obi-Wan’s sapphire blue lightsaber.

 _Force,_ Tahl said, awe coloring her mental voice.  _Look at him._

Obi-Wan’s skin had a golden cast of health, not a touch of that horrible gray paleness to him.  His hair had turned from deep copper into pale gold from the sun, and was long enough to fall past his shoulders.  The scar on his abdomen was visible even from the fence-line, stark-white against the golden tan, and had healed into a shape that looked very much like half of a star instead of a lightsaber burn. 

Micah found himself agreeing with Tahl.  The man was moving like he’d never been injured, grace and controlled fire, every bit of his talent with a blade intact.  As he watched, Obi-Wan turned around, saw Anakin’s blade coming for him, and reversed his grip to meet the pale blue blade with the hilt of his lightsaber.

A shouted curse from Anakin was followed by the Padawan’s lightsaber shorting out.  “Dammit, Master!  That’s cheating!” he yelled.

“Get your own Cortosis!” Obi-Wan taunted, trying to tag Anakin out of the battle before the boy could repower his blade. 

Anakin retreated, flipping out of the way, and ran straight into Rillian.  [Gotcha, Skywalker!] the Wookiee howled in delight, striking his arm with her lightsaber and raising a red burn on his skin. 

Micah grinned as he heard Tuuvino release a breath; the much younger apprentice hadn’t realized that the group was dueling with all of their blades at training strength.

“Aw, crap!” Anakin grumbled, retreating to sit on a bale of bundled grass next to another boy, who looked to be about the same age—Owen Lars, Micah guessed.  Owen was watching the duel with fascination, occasionally shouting encouragement at the three remaining players.

Rillian was tagged by her Master a moment later, and she escaped from the duel to jog over to the fence.  When she saw Micah, Tahl, and Tuuvino waiting by her bandoleer, she grinned and waved. 

[When did you get here?] she asked, climbing up onto the fence to sit on the top rail, panting for breath.

“Just a while ago,” Micah answered, smiling at the girl who’d been in his Advanced Lightsaber Techniques class.  “You have improved tremendously, Raallandirr,” he complimented her.  “I’m very proud at how far you’ve come, and the Jar’Kai seems to work very well for you.”

[I told Master Jil-Hyra it would, but she wouldn’t listen to me,] Rillian agreed.  [Thank you, Master Giett.  Your words are very kind.]

“My words are nothing less than the truth,” Micah replied, enjoying himself.  He’d always liked the Wookiee girl’s blunt honesty, only just tempered by Jedi decorum and diplomacy. 

“My gods, they’re not fighting, they’re _flirting,_ ” Tahl said, and Micah turned his attention back to the two remaining duelists.

“I thought you couldn’t see unless Micah was looking, too?” Tuuvino asked, looking up at her curiously.

“I don’t need to see it.  It’s so obvious it’s a wonder the entire farm isn’t in heat,” Tahl said, grinning.

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were circling each other, sapphire blade raised against emerald.  Both of them were grinning, though there was a touch more feral playfulness in Obi-Wan’s expression than his former Master’s.  Obi-Wan swung; Qui-Gon blocked and riposted.  Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and leapt, coming down in a cross-sweep that Qui-Gon danced away from, shaking his head.

“Yeah, that’s flirting all right,” Micah said, laughing.  He cupped his hands over his mouth.  “Come on, old man!” he shouted.  “Take him out!”

“Which one of us is he calling old?” Obi-Wan asked, as he and Qui-Gon exchanged another flurry of blows in attempts to tag each other. 

“That’d have to be you,” Qui-Gon said, catching Obi-Wan’s blade and pressing forward, trying to gain leverage with his height and weight.  “You’re older than I am.”

“I only seem to be older when it’s convenient for you,” Obi-Wan replied, quirking an eyebrow.  “However, I will take what encouragement I can get,” he said, and switched off his own lightsaber, leaving Qui-Gon to stumble forward from the sudden lack of resistance.  Obi-Wan rolled neatly out of the way, coming up behind Qui-Gon and tagging him on the back with his re-ignited lightsaber.  “I win.”

Qui-Gon sighed dramatically and disengaged his blade.  “I concede.  I will just have to consider myself old and outdated.”

“Like hell,” Obi-Wan retorted, and grinned.  “Besides, you gave up because we have guests.”

“Perhaps,” Qui-Gon allowed, snagging Obi-Wan’s hand as both groups migrated towards each other, fence and hay bale abandoned.    

“Damn, you look good,” Micah said, embracing Qui-Gon and pounding him on the back.  “And you’re getting sweat all over my tunics.”

“You hugged me first,” Qui-Gon pointed out, and turned his attention to Tahl.

Micah put his hands on Obi-Wan’s shoulders, shaking his head.  “Wow,” he said.  “I have to admit, I didn’t know if you’d ever regain the ability to spar again, let alone dominate a match against three equally talented peers.”

“Some days, neither did I,” Obi-Wan admitted, and Micah hugged him, glad to see genuine health and happiness in the young man’s eyes.  “Thanks, Micah.”

He greeted Anakin, and was introduced to Owen, who looked enthused at meeting the Combat Master for the Temple.  “Are we the first in?” Tahl asked, her head turning from left to right as she listened with the Force for the presence of other Jedi.

“You’re the first to come out to the farm, but not the first on the planet,” Qui-Gon answered, and Micah hid his amusement as he noticed that it took a whole ten seconds for his arm to wind up draped over Obi-Wan’s shoulders.  “Where are Bant and Garen?”

“Not to mention Mace,” Obi-Wan added, smiling at Tuuvino.

“The rest of the Padawans are all coming out together with Garen, and may or may not be here tomorrow,” Micah said.  “Mace couldn’t escape until the last moment.  Master Yoda had already informed everyone that he was not to be bothered unless the Sith invade or suns start going nova, and left even before we did.”

Obi-Wan shivered, as if noticing the chilly weather at last.  “If either of those things starts to happen, I am going to be very displeased with the universe.  Anyway, forget all that.  Did you two know that they make tea-flavored cake?”

Tahl grinned.  “I had heard as much, though we ultimately decided against it for our own ceremony.  I’d rather have the real thing.”

“Tahl—it’s _tea-flavored_ cake.  Real tea in the cake.  Caffeinated food.”  Obi-Wan looked far too pleased with the notion.  “You have the tea with the cake, and thus everything is perfect.”

“Ah, great,” Micah said, pretending to sigh.  “So everyone is going to be cranked on caffeine _and_ sugar.  That should make the reception interesting.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Tahl and Micah were welcomed into the house, met by the sight of a very pregnant Shmi Skywalker and a beaming Cliegg Lars.  After dinner and some discussion, they were given the room Anakin and Owen shared.  Owen and the three Padawans decided to bed themselves out in the massive enclosed sun porch, and the older Padawans would be bunking in the room with them soon enough. 

Obi-Wan spent a few minutes putting fresh linens on the bed Rillian had used.  Jale Terza was going to be sharing the room with Abella, who was currently absent, in the midst of retrieving her Master from the port on the coast.   

“This house will be stuffed to the gills by tomorrow night,” he told Shmi, who had given up trying to help and was sitting in a nearby chair, scowling at her gigantic belly.

Shmi managed a smile.  “Thank goodness that the majority of your guests decided to room at the inn in Falaft,” she said.  “Otherwise we’d be stuffing people in the barn.”

Obi-Wan smiled and decided not to comment on the fact that he’d already slept quite nicely in the barn, and wouldn’t mind doing so again.  “Come on, let me help you up.”

Shmi looked like she wanted to argue, sighed, and held out her arm.  “I want this baby to be born, so that I can stand up without needing a hand.”

“Soon enough,” Obi-Wan said, and looked innocent when Shmi glared at him.  “I can’t tell you a due date, Mom.  She’ll make up her own mind.”

“Right after the wedding would be lovely,” Shmi told her belly, smiling when the baby inside kicked hard enough to ripple the fabric of her shirt.

 

*          *          *          *

 

The family and their guests spent a pleasant evening on the sun porch, surrounded by Padawan sleeping gear and the Padawans themselves.  Talk went on until Rillian began yawning non-stop, after which they discovered Tuuvino had fallen asleep sitting up and Owen had passed out in his sleeping bag.  Obi-Wan lingered long enough to see to it that everyone actually made it into bed, which left Qui-Gon to escort Tahl and Micah back to their temporary bedroom.

Micah paused in the doorway, turning back to Qui-Gon with a calculating look.  “What’s up with you?  You keep darting glances at Tahl and I, like you desperately want to talk about something.”

Qui-Gon shook his head, smiling.  “It can keep another day or so, Micah.  We’re waiting for everyone to arrive.”

“Oh, see, that’s not fair,” he protested.  “Now I’m going to spend the entire time pestering you to find out what’s going on!”

Qui-Gon grinned, inclined his head, and retreated down the hall to his own room, leaving Micah to sputter and call Qui-Gon names under his breath.  Obi-Wan joined him a short while later, his impish smile highlighted by silver moonlight.  “You are a very bad man, teasing your best friend like that,” Obi-Wan said.

Qui-Gon nodded.  “Yes, but you seem to like it,” he said, and laughed when Obi-Wan pounced.

 

Harvest Festival, Day 2

Jale Terza arrived with Abella at dawn, bearing a surprise on her back—Master Yoda.  “Underhanded troll,” Obi-Wan complimented him, helping Terza divest herself of the pack Yoda was riding in.  “Sneaking out with the Healer instead of telling everyone you’d be going.”

Yoda chuckled as Abella handed him his gimer stick.  “Told them, I did.  Believe me, they did not.  Their fault, it is,” he said.  “Now, down here you will kneel, so that look at you, I can.”

Obi-Wan obliged, feeling a trace amount of curiosity from the bond.  Qui-Gon was in the kitchen, making sure there was fresh tea for everyone who had bothered to be awake to greet their new guests. 

 _Going to get prodded with a stick, love_ , he sent.

 _Ah,_ Qui-Gon answered, curiosity becoming amusement.  _Don’t let him bruise you._

 _Heard that, I did,_ Yoda grumbled, but he was smiling.  He leaned forward; Obi-Wan mimicked his pose, their foreheads just shy of touching.  The dormant training bond between them flared to life, as it had five years ago in the Council chambers, allowing Yoda to see the Jedi Master lurking under the skin of one scrawny, sixteen-year-old Padawan.

Yoda gave his shields a sharp prod, humming under his breath as he did so.  Obi-Wan winced and pushed back.  “Better you are, yes,” Yoda said, sitting back.  “Caught so easily by the Sith next time, you will not be, hmm?”

Obi-Wan grimaced.  “I really, really hope not, Master.  As it is, we’re still trying to devise new methods of shielding.  I’d hate to see that happen to someone else.”

Yoda nodded.  “The same thoughts, we have had, but for later, that is.  Tea, your bondmate is bringing me, hmm?”

Obi-Wan smiled as Qui-Gon walked into the living room, holding a small mug that would be perfect for Yoda’s tiny hands.  “You’d think that I had no inkling of proper hospitality, the way he carries on,” Qui-Gon said, blithely ignoring the gimer stick that swatted his shins. 

“Missed you I did, impudent Master Qui-Gon.  Greet me properly, you will.”

Obi-Wan grinned as Qui-Gon knelt to accept the ancient Master’s embrace, and then noticed Terza’s eyes on him.  His grin wilted.  “Can’t it wait?”

Jale Terza shook her head.  Her expression was appropriately solemn, but the glint in her eyes told him he was in for a special sort of Healer hell.  “Think of it this way, Obi-Wan—until I assess her work, I can’t finish getting rid of my Padawan.”

Abella snorted, amused.  “Master, they’re giving me an office two doors down from yours.  You’ll not be getting rid of me so much as earning yourself another annoying assistant.”

Obi-Wan sighed and acquiesced, though getting a thorough physical was not his idea of a pleasant way to spend the morning.  He led Jale and Abella down the hall to the privacy of his and Qui-Gon’s bedroom, and had just shut the door when Terza grabbed him by the shoulders, leaned close enough for their noses to touch, and growled, “Don’t you ever, _ever_ do anything like that again, so help me Force!”

He blinked, years of diplomacy saving him from flinching in the face of Jale Terza’s anger.  “Which part?”

Terza sighed.  “All of it, you nitwit.  I’ve put you back together far too many times over the years, as it is.  Please refrain from taking any more damage, hmm?”

Obi-Wan stepped back and held up his hand.  “I pledge to do my best to avoid further lightsaber stabbings, mind-raping Sith, and irritated Hutts.”

“Sarcastic brat,” Terza said, before smiling and hugging him.  “All right, off with the clothes.  Let’s see how well you’ve healed up.”

“Your bedside manner stinks,” Obi-Wan retorted as he pulled off his shirt.

He escaped Terza’s clutches relatively unscathed, though she let him have it about every single slip he’d made during the early part of his healing process.  She clucked over the scar, prodded it with her fingers until the skin underneath her hands turned red in protest.  It was sort of funny; the exit wound on his back had barely scarred at all, for all it had received the least attention after its initial healing. 

“I did the research, and you’re a good candidate for replacement.  Ready to talk about it yet?” Terza asked Obi-Wan at the end, after he’d been forced to demonstrate his entire range of motion twice over. 

“After I’m back on Coruscant, yes.  Right before my wedding?  Not a chance in hell.”

He decided to hide on the porch, afterwards, holding a mug of steaming tea and enjoying the biting chill in the air.  Teya was wrapped around Obi-Wan’s neck, purring like a pod engine and serving as a very good scarf.  Terza and Abella had retired for a nap after his physical, since they had travelled through the night, which left everyone else congregating in the kitchen.  He wasn’t quite in the mood for that, yet, and hoped his absence would be understood.

Qui-Gon found him when the breakfast rush finished up.  Obi-Wan realized through the bond that Anakin and Master Yoda were together, immersed in a conversation about the way Vader’s memories had naturally cordoned themselves off from the rest of Anakin’s mind.  He relaxed once he sensed no tension on Anakin’s part. 

“He’s fine,” Qui-Gon reassured him, sitting down on the bench next to Obi-Wan.  “I think, after discussing it with us all summer, he just wants to see what enlightenment a different opinion might bring.”

“Which is good, because I certainly don’t know what to tell him.  I’m just glad it gives him some measure of peace,” Obi-Wan said, sipping at his tea.  Teya stretched and prodded Obi-Wan’s shoulder with his claws before settling again.

“And what about you?” Qui-Gon asked, taking Obi-Wan’s free hand and warming Obi-Wan’s chilled fingers with his palms.  “What about your peace?”

“Well, there’s you,” Obi-Wan said, smiling at his mate, “and Anakin, and Rillian, and our family.  And Teya,” he added, feeling the threat of more claw punctures as the feline declared he was not to be left out.  “As to the rest?” 

He considered the knot in his chest, physical manifestation of literally years of pent-up negative emotions from the time he’d spent living his other life.  It was hard to believe he’d been working on dissipating that knot for weeks now, strange to realize he’d been struggling against anger and despair and grief long enough to create such a thing.  The block, now seven months gone, had once dealt with much of that negative emotion for him, keeping his mind from recognizing what he had suffered through while a guest of the Sith.

Still, it was going away, bit by bit, meditation by meditation.  He squeezed Qui-Gon’s hand, feeling joy and gladness in his heart where once there had been only emptiness and ash. 

“I’m getting there,” Obi-Wan said, and Qui-Gon leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan’s temple.  They remained seated together, shoulder to shoulder, for the next few hours, joined only by Micah and Tahl.  There was no conversation, not then, despite the time they had all spent apart.  They were two bonded couples, of an age despite Obi-Wan’s date of birth, and in that moment there was no need to do anything but exist in the moment together.

 

*          *          *          *

 

The older Padawans (and their Knight pilot) arrived at dusk, laughing and bright-eyed as they strolled down the ship’s ramp to greet the current inhabitants of the Lars Farm.  Bant had come alone, citing an amicable break-up for her lack of wedding date.  Reeft and Garen Muln were together, as Obi-Wan had said that they would be.  Siri Tachi, nineteen year-old Padawan to Adi Gallia, had apparently been busy.  Qui-Gon smiled as Obi-Wan teased her about dating Su’um-Va, Master Healer.  The Healer in question merely grinned at the attention, looking far too pleased with himself and the universe in general.  With them was another surprise:  Knight Jude Rozess, newly dubbed chief of Temple Security.  When Quinlan Vos arrived with the Naboo contingent, she was to be his companion for the wedding. 

Greetings were exchanged, Jude looking almost overwhelmed by the boisterous gathering of Jedi and non-Jedi.  Garen, Obi-Wan, and Bant made sure she didn’t feel left out, and before long there was a massive crowd in the farm’s kitchen, sharing tea, alcohol, jokes, and generally getting in one another’s way as dinner was prepared.

“Holy cripes, you got gigantic!” Garen exclaimed, taking in Shmi’s massive stomach as she joined them at last, one of her frequent naps keeping her from the Skipray’s landing. 

“Your tact knows no bounds, Padawan,” Micah said, reaching over to swat Garen on the back of the head.

“It’s quite all right, Master Micah,” Shmi said, grinning at the exchange.  “He’s merely being honest.”

“Speaking of being honest,” Tahl said, pitching her voice loud enough to be heard by all, despite the din.  “Everyone joining us tomorrow already knows, so we’ll tell the rest of you now.  I’m pregnant.”

For a moment in the kitchen, silence reigned.  “Gods of earth and air,” Qui-Gon whispered, eyes wide.  “Really?”

“Yes, really.  I’m three weeks along, and though it’s a bit too early to be certain, I think it’s a boy,” Tahl said, grinning.  “Micah passed out when I told him.”

“I did not,” Micah retorted.  “I merely experienced a sudden burst of euphoria that deadened my limbs and made the floor exceedingly comfortable.”

There was a startled burst of laughter, and then congratulations began pouring down on the bonded Jedi.  Qui-Gon hugged her, feeling her delight as if it was his own. 

“I didn’t think you still could,” he murmured in Tahl’s ear, the words for her alone.

“Just on the inside edge of ability,” Tahl confided, her voice low.  “Jale’s crew has me under close watch, Qui-Gon, never fear.  This little one is going to be sick of Healers before he can draw his first breath.”

“Damn, I got Knighted just in time,” Garen said, laughing.  “My room’s going to become a baby-haven!”

“And I think I just became a nanny,” Bant mused.

“For awhile, anyway,” Micah said.  “Then I suppose the creche will get their grubby hands on him.”

“Not until I say so,” Tahl growled.

Qui-Gon turned his head, a comment on his lips for his mate, and forgot to speak.  There was a strange glimmer in Obi-Wan’s eyes, one he tended to see during Obi-Wan’s moments of prescience.  _Love?_

 _It’s…it’s nothing,_ Obi-Wan said, shaking his head and doing his best to smile.  _Or it doesn’t feel like anything dire, Qui.  I just don’t think their child will see much of the creche._

Qui-Gon smiled.  No, knowing Micah and Tahl, they were probably going to embark on a journey to drive the Creche Master crazy by refusing to completely relinquish their hold on their child.  _Somehow, I am not surprised._

 

Harvest Festival, Day 3

“Force,” Mace Windu said under his breath, watching as Anakin’s astromech droid projected each page of data.  He and Adi Gallia had scarcely arrived at the little farm before they’d been hauled out onto the massive sun porch, the only place big enough to play host to all of the gathered Jedi.  Quinlan Vos and Padawan Secura had arrived with Queen Amidala, her handmaiden Eirtaé, and Lieutenant Typho just ahead of them; they were already seated in the room when Qui-Gon had escorted Adi and Mace inside.  Of the Lars family, only Shmi Skywalker-Lars was present, though it was made clear that the rest of her household was already aware of the situation.

 “This is unbelievable,” Adi was saying, her blue eyes wide with surprise as she noted each changed midichlorian count.  “This is—oh, for gods’ sake.  Terza, you’ve got a blood analyzer, don’t you?  I’m flabbergasted by this, but above all, curious to see how far the change has spread.”

Healer Terza retrieved her analyzer as well as her apprentice’s, and a few minutes were spent gathering blood samples from everyone who had yet to be tested.  Adi’s count had shifted from eleven point nine to fourteen; Queen Amidala had a birth count of nine thousand that had jumped to thirteen; Quinlan and his Padawan’s counts had both gone up fifteen hundred points; Micah and Tahl’s midichlorians had multiplied four thousand percent between them; Jale Terza’s had shifted from eleven thousand to fifteen; Garen Muln, Bant Eerin, Siri Tachi, and Reeft had all seen midichlorian shifts of five hundred to two thousand points upwards.  Only Su’um-Va and Jude Rozess’s numbers remained largely unchanged, showing only slight variances in their midichlorian levels.  It wasn’t hard to fathom that the difference was caused by their lack of exposure to Obi-Wan Kenobi, even if the man in question didn’t seem pleased by that theory.

Mace’s midichlorian count had always been high, due to his heritage as Haruun-Kal, but seeing it spring from fourteen point two to seventeen thousand was quite enough to leave him speechless.  His Padawan, the youngest of those gathered, had shifted only eight hundred points, but that was enough to leave him just as wide-eyed as his Master.

Only Yoda seemed unperturbed by the changes, even though his midichlorian count had gone from sixteen thousand to nineteen thousand.  “When a child I was, my potential was tested not by such things,” he said, waving his hand.  “Through my life, changed my count has—always increasing.  Want to hear about this, others did _not_ ,” he said, and thudded his gimer stick against the wood floor.  “Change, those counts do not.  Faulty, my memory was.  Faulty, the records were.  Excuses were made.  Change, the Jedi did not want.”

Mace nodded, thinking of Master Yarael Poof and Master Rancisis.  Both were Jedi of supreme ability.  Both of them would likely have species-specific coronaries in light of this revelation.  This was not random chance, as Rancisis liked to insist Anakin or Obi-Wan’s potential represented.  This was the future of the Jedi, and if they couldn’t all open their minds and embrace it, the Order was lost.

“No,” Obi-Wan said, startling Mace.  “Sorry, you were thinking a bit loud, there,” the young Master apologized.  “It’s not the future.  It’s our past.” 

Obi-Wan told them of the dream he’d had, months ago, when Ulic Qel-Droma had shown him the Great Library on Ossus.  The dream had been Obi-Wan’s impetus to explore their midichlorian counts, even if his actual task—seeking Master Ood Bnar—was proving difficult to complete. 

“Five-thousand-year-old Jedi Masters, breeding midichlorians, ancient history and modern change?” Garen shook his head.  “We certainly do live in interesting times.”

Micah opened his mouth, closed it, and then looked at Qui-Gon.  “I told you we were cursed,” he said, and Qui-Gon scowled at him.  “May you live in interesting times, indeed.”

There was a flurry of conversation after that, based on cultural references to the statement as well as agreement as to its accuracy.  Mace looked down as Tuuvino crept back to his side, taking Mace’s hand and looking far too solemn. 

“There is something else,” Adi said, breaking through the babble of voices when talk began to quiet down.  “We finally tracked down Palpatine’s location during the time Obi-Wan and Anakin spent unconscious, five years ago.  It took some effort, as the Sith was still a year shy of being ratified for the Senate by King Veruna.  No one on Naboo seemed to remember where Palpatine was during that time, even though he had already established his political presence.  Finally, Master Tholme managed to locate an aide who had worked for Palpatine, one whose altered memory didn’t quite settle as well as Palpatine likely had hoped.  It seems as if the Sith secreted himself away on a distant planet, with only select members of his entourage, and was gone for four weeks.”

Anakin frowned.  “You mean, you think he knew it was coming?”

“We have no idea,” Mace said, shaking his head.  “The aide only knew of Palpatine’s departure and return.  He wasn’t one of the select few to accompany him, and the name of the planet was, it seems, a closely-guarded secret.  We don’t have a lot of his personal staff to question.  Most of them vanished when the news of his true affiliation hit the feeds.”

“He knew _something_ was going to happen,” Obi-Wan said, lacing his hands together in his lap.  “But as to knowing what was truly to come—that, I doubt.  Any idea where he could have gone, Anakin?”

“No,” Anakin said, shaking his head after a moment, frowning.  “Sidious kept things from Vader, just as Vader kept secrets from Palpatine.  Or thought he did, anyway,” he amended. 

“Perhaps we’re misjudging the situation, and he didn’t mean to be gone from Naboo for that long at all,” Qui-Gon interjected.  “Lapsing into unconsciousness could have been as much of a surprise for him as it was for those of us around Obi-Wan and Anakin at the time.”

“One more thing,” Obi-Wan said, holding up his hand.  “I’ve been wondering something.  Have any of you had any dreams that feel like memories?  Things that you know you haven’t done?  Flashes during meditation, perhaps?”

“You mean, do any of us remember things the way you and Ani do?” Padawan Eerin asked, blinking several times in apparent confusion.  “I’ve had a few dreams since the Sharing, but they were all about what happened to you two.  Nothing from my own perspective.”

“Same here,” Garen said, rubbing his chin, for once utterly serious.  “I’ve had a lot of crazy dreams about zombies—and thank you _very much_ for that, by the way,” he grumbled.  “But memories?  Not even the barest hint, and I even tried to meditate on it to see if it was possible.”

Yoda nodded.  “Remember anything, I do not, Obi-Wan.  Like Knight Garen, meditated on this, I did.  Possibilities I could see, yes, from year to year, but recollections?” The Master shook his head.  “Had them, I have not.”

It didn’t take long for everyone else to confirm the same thing.  If there were memories lurking in anyone’s subconscious, meditation could not draw them out.  Mace was glad for such a thing.  He liked the order he maintained in his own mind, and knew that Anakin and Obi-Wan had difficulties trying to keep their dual lives straight.  He never wanted to carry such a burden, but he would do his best to support those who did.  “Is there a reason you’ve asked, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan turned his head and looked at Qui-Gon, who sighed.  “Me, Mace.  I’ve had dreams of Obi-Wan’s life almost from the beginning, but it’s…”  Qui-Gon hesitated, frowning.  “It’s like seeing his memories from my own point of view.  I just don’t want to go so far as to call them _my_ memories.”

Adi nodded.  “Understandable, Qui-Gon.  Given our enthusiasm in pursuing an explanation for all of this, based upon a prophecy that is no longer of any value to us, I don’t think we should jump to conclusions.”

“In that case, the original prophecy stays on the table,” Micah said, and Tahl nodded her agreement.  “We could be jumping to conclusions just as easily on that subject as any other.  For now, let’s just keep every single clue we have together.  No sense ditching puzzle pieces we might need later.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Anakin said, which made Knight Rozess stare at the boy in surprise.  Mace narrowed his eyes; even as an adult, Anakin Skywalker had never been given to foul language—at least not that his Master had ever observed.  “Artoo, bring up the prophecy fragments, will you?”

The astromech droid beeped and re-activated his holographic emitter, displaying data with an info-stamp that marked its origin as the Obroa-skai archives.

_“The Old Republic was the Republic of legend, greater than distance or time. No need to note where it was or whence it came, only to know that...it was the Republic.”_

Towards the bottom of the fragment images was the only other line legible:  _“It will fall.”_

Mace had a strong urge to bury his face in his hands.  Force, could this situation be any more complicated?

“I am so, so confused,” Knight Rozess said, looking a bit lost.  “Does that mean the Republic is supposed to fall, or is it referencing something else entirely?”

Obi-Wan shrugged; Qui-Gon held up his hands, looking just as perplexed as everyone else.  “We’ve been thinking about it for quite some time now, Knight Rozess, and we still don’t have an answer to that question.”

Healer Su’um-Va was still staring at the projected fragments.  “We’re either dating the right people, or the wrong people, Jude.”

“You won’t be saying that by the time I get through with you,” Padawan Tachi said, grinning.

“Padawan!” Adi admonished.  “Please do try to refrain from announcing your intentions for sexual conquest to the entire room.”

“I’m glad she said it first,” Quinlan said in an undertone to Knight Rozess, who smiled, a faint blush touching her cheeks.

Owen Lars leaned into the doorway of the sun porch, giving everyone an enthusiastic grin.  “Are you guys done with all of the Jedi stuff yet?”

Adi smiled at the boy.  “I think we’ve filled our heads with enough to keep us busy for the next few days.  Is there something else we should be doing, instead?”

Owen nodded.  “It’s the third day of Harvest Week.  Tonight we’ll have bonfires, singing and dancing, and—well, drinking, for some of you,” he said, glancing at Obi-Wan.  “And some of the kids run off and make out.”

Siri Tachi gave Su’um-Va a significant look.  “Sounds like fun to me,” she said, ignoring her Master’s rolling eyes and long-suffering sigh.

“He’s not telling you that there’s a catch,” Obi-Wan said, smiling.  “We have to work for our party.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Qui-Gon savored his amusement as their guests realized that “bonfire” meant a wooden structure about twenty feet tall out in the main field, and that half of the town planned to join them to prepare for the evening festivities.  There was some hesitation at first, on both fronts, as Jedi and everyone who lived close by tried to figure out how to deal with each other.  Then cloaks were abandoned, tools were acquired, and by the time everyone was hard at work cutting wood for the evening bonfires, the earlier nervousness was long forgotten.

By dusk the primary bonfire was complete in the east field, surrounded by a ring of stones, each of them tall enough to reach Anakin’s waist.  There were smaller bonfires scattered throughout each field, all of them with their own ring of stones.  The practice of the field bonfires was part offering, part fertilization for the next season, and part celebration of the year that was. 

“You could land star cruisers with that thing,” Garen said as the flames caught and raced up the fuel-soaked wood, turning the primary bonfire in a column of yellow-orange light that lit up the entire field and drove away most of the night’s chill at the same time.  There was a beat before the rest of the bonfires were all lit as one, and the entire farm was surrounded by a faint orange glow that competed with the starlight and moonlight above. 

Qui-Gon had noticed decades ago that whenever a bunch of locals pulled out musical instruments, it seemed to be a galactic standard that everyone always seemed to know just what to play, and it was all played well.  He had a moment to enjoy the opening of a classic reel before Obi-Wan was at his side, the fire highlighting the playful grin on his face.  “Dance with me, Master Jinn,” he said, and Qui-Gon would have been an idiot to decline. 

They were the first to respond to the music, but it was only seconds before they were joined by more couples as well as single individuals, and the dance floor was a moving ring around the fire and the stones.  The air was filled with stamping feet and the rush of wind and roaring flame, and Qui-Gon found his heart beating wildly and almost in time with the fast-tempo song that was being played. 

Obi-Wan led him through three more songs, each of them a touch bawdy and raucous, before they stepped out of the crowd of dancers in mutual agreement, taking time to cool off.  There were tables being set up a safe distance from the dancers, and food was starting to pile up on each one.  “We should help,” Qui-Gon said, and realized he was still panting to recapture his breath.

“Not our job this time, love,” Obi-Wan said, lacing his arm through Qui-Gon’s, his face flushed, his eyes brilliant.  “We’re getting married, and thus purposefully exempt from any duty once the bonfires are complete.  In fact, we’re not supposed to do anything else at this point except enjoy the evening.”

“This place has weird traditions,” Qui-Gon said, smiling.  “Don’t work after a certain day, enforced separation tomorrow morning until we see each other in the temple to exchange vows…”

“Perhaps,” Obi-Wan said.  “I just imagine that a day apart will make our wedding night that much more interesting.”  He looked up at Qui-Gon, his lips quirked in a smile, and there was heat in his eyes that had nothing to do with the firelight Qui-Gon saw reflected there.  He leaned down and kissed the man who owned his heart, and Obi-Wan grinned against his lips.  Micah, Tahl, Ishtan, Sev, Quinlan, and Jude Rozess surrounded them, dragging them back into the circle of dancers.

The food, when they could actually get to it, was good, though later Qui-Gon wouldn’t remember a bit of what he’d actually eaten.  There was too much going on; the entire affair was glorious chaos.  While he’d seen such things before, he’d always been apart from them, a Jedi Master watching over the affairs of others.  This affair, however, was his own, a part of the family that he was marrying into, and he hadn’t had so much blasted fun in _years_. 

He caught sight of Tahl and Micah dancing together.  With the strong Lifebond between them, Tahl never missed a step, even when their bodies weren’t touching. 

Anakin, Owen, and Aayla were with the Naboo contingent, teaching Padmé, Eirtaé, and Panaka’s young nephew the steps to one of the more energetic local dances.  Anakin’s hand was on Padmé’s elbow, guiding her, and both of them were laughing with every stumble.  For all that Anakin had fretted over seeing Padmé once more, it seemed his worry had been for nothing.  Friendship was an easy, tangible thing between them.  Just from Quinlan’s simple exercises, Padmé’s nascent talent in the Force had already taken on a life of its own, and glowed in warm contrast to Anakin’s fierce light. 

Quinlan and Jude were dancing together slowly, a distinct counterpoint to the faster music being played.  They were physically touching from their knees on up to their lips, trying to make up for lost time. 

Garen was leaning against a table next to Reeft, who had piled a plate high with food.  Force knew how many times he’d refilled it by now.  They both overheard Cliegg ask Reeft if he ever stopped eating.

“Stop?” Reeft repeated, giving the farmer a confused look as Garen cackled.  Dressellian appetites were fierce towards the end of their last growth cycle, but Reeft’s was damned-near legendary, even outside the Order.

Siri Tachi and Su’um-Va hadn’t been seen since the food had first appeared.  When Qui-Gon mentioned their absence to Obi-Wan, he smiled; neither of them was surprised in the least.

Obi-Wan caught Qui-Gon’s attention and pointed.  Near the tables a row of kegs filled with local ales had been set up, an addition to the wines that had been carted in for the third Harvest night.  Adi was plying Mace with a frothing cup of ale and a teasing smile.  “You think she’ll ever get him to dance?” his mate asked.

Qui-Gon noticed the stubborn set of Mace’s features, and the faint hint of panic in his eyes.  Foolish man, he thought fondly.  Qui-Gon still wasn’t sure why Mace was certain that a relationship between himself and Adi Gallia would be a problem.  Hell, Adi didn’t understand it, either.  “I don’t think so,” he said.  “But I know how we can arrange a Jedi dance between them,” Qui-Gon said.

Obi-Wan looked up at him and raised a curious eyebrow, and then he caught the thought.  “Oh,” he said, grinning with delight.  “That’s a wonderful idea. I hope we’re all sober enough to pull it off.  I’ll nab the younger half if you clue in the rest,” he said.  Qui-Gon nodded his agreement as they parted ways, heading in opposite directions.

Qui-Gon found Rillian and Abella being mobbed by the young ones, both of them patiently and cheerfully allowing the girls to twist their fur into many little braids.  The boys were busy plying Rillian with questions about Kashyyyk, asking if the lowest levels of the forests were as dangerous as they’d heard, and if she would have to go hunting there when she came of age.

[Absolutely,] Raallandirr said, while Abella translated for her.  [It’s my _hrrtayyk,_ and it will take place during my thirteenth year.  Normally I would be twelve, if I grew up on my planet, but I’m a Padawan.]

“Force, I hadn’t even considered that,” Qui-Gon said, coming to his Padawan’s aid and lifting two of the smaller children from her lap when they showed no signs of budging.  Rillian had just turned thirteen.  “We’ll have to speak of your _hrrtayyk_ again later.  In the meantime, how would you two like to become part of a nefarious plot?” 

He explained the situation, upon which both Padawans agreed to help, and they split up to seek out the other Jedi.  By the time Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan met again in front of the primary bonfire, they had found everyone but Siri and Su’um-Va. 

Adi, noticing their absence, shook her head.  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear that girl was a Zeltron.”

“What are you two up to?” Mace asked, crossing his arms as he looked at Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan.

“You’ll find out,” Qui-Gon answered, smiling when Mace frowned.

Obi-Wan shouted for attention when the motley band of instrument players finished the latest song.  The crowd quieted down in gentle waves of dwindling sound, until the only thing to be heard was the crackle of burning wood and the distant shouts of the children, who had wandered off to play hide-and-go-seek in the dark. 

“I’ve heard it said on many worlds that Jedi don’t dance,” Obi-Wan said, resting his hands on his hips as he addressed the crowd.  “We’re too staid and stuffy and somber.”

“Stuffy, my hairy _ass_!” Sev shouted from the vicinity of the ale barrels.  “When your folks got married, you drank the entire damn town under the table, Ben!”

“And if I still had both kidneys I’d do it again,” Obi-Wan retorted with a grin, and his words were met with a murmur of approval from the crowd.  _They adore him,_ Qui-Gon found himself thinking, seeing the smiles and delight on many faces.  As far as Falaft was concerned, Ben Kenobi was one of their own. 

 _Best count yourself on that list as well, love,_ Obi-Wan told him, a touch of sternness in his mental voice.  “My drinking skills aside, we were wondering if you lot would like to see how the Jedi _do_ dance.”

There was an enthusiastic rumble of agreement from those gathered.  Obi-Wan smiled.  “I’ll take that as a yes.  Clear the dancing area and give us two minutes.”

Mace’s eyebrows had risen in surprise.  “You want to do the _con daska_?  I don’t think I’ve ever done one with this many participants before.”

“Well, you’re out me,” Tahl said, brushing her hair back from her face.  “I’ve already got the first twinges of morning sickness, and if I spin around upside down too many times I’ll likely decorate all of us in an unpleasant way.”

“I’m out, too,” Terza said, and Abella made a dismayed sound.  “I’m out of practice, and I don’t want to kick anyone in the face by accident.  I’m happy to watch the rest of you.”

“Watch, I also will,” Yoda said, his lips quirked in a mischievous smile.  “Too old am I for such things.”

“That’s absolute nonsense,” Adi said, grinning.  “Off with you, you old troll,” she said, and poor Tuuvino looked absolutely scandalized by her words, his eyes as big as dinner plates. 

“Name the pairs, Qui,” Micah said, the faint hint of a smirk on his face.  He was well aware of the entire point of their nefarious plot, masked under the _con daska._

“Micah, you’re with Tuuvino, because you’ve worked together enough to understand how each of you move.  Aayla, you’re with Abella, because Quinlan says you need the practice.  Jude, I’m sure you won’t mind Quinlan’s company,” Qui-Gon continued, and Jude blushed but smiled.  “Garen and Reeft—”

“As if there was any doubt of _that_ ,” Reeft said, nudging Garen.

“Mace and Adi,” Qui-Gon went on, and he was amused to see a spark of genuine delight in Mace’s eyes.  “Rillian and Anakin, Obi-Wan and myself.  We’ve got seven pairs.  Shall we use the hexagon pattern with the first variation?  That puts Rillian and Anakin in the center to start.”

[I can do that,] Rillian said.  [Skywalker will just have to keep up.]

Anakin rolled his eyes.  “The point of this is to work in tandem, or we’re going to be throwing people into each other, Ril.”

“Quite right,” Qui-Gon said, tugging on his Padawan’s short braid.  “We must keep perfect time with each other, or the _con daska_ falls apart.  It’s as much a challenge as it is a dance, as much joy as it is a lesson.”

“I’m going to let the musicians know what we need,” Garen said, and trotted off to give the band a short set of instructions.

Garen returned in short order, and they quickly found their places in the packed earth that had been serving as a dance floor for the evening.  Each couple became a point of the hexagon, standing back to back.  Rillian and Anakin waited in the center, facing each other. 

“Link up if you have them, folks,” Micah said, as he was the one facing the waiting musicians.  “Open your awareness, feel what’s going on around you.  We dance as one or we don’t dance at all.  Take your first step on the first beat,” he said, and raised his hand.  “On three.”

Qui-Gon mentally counted down from three and stepped just as the first fist came down on drum hide.  Obi-Wan moved with him, around him, his body sinuous and slender, perfect for the dance.  Qui-Gon lifted his left hand as Obi-Wan turned to face him, meeting Obi-Wan’s right palm in a sharp clap that echoed in time with everyone else’s hands meeting.  Then he pushed against Obi-Wan’s hand, sending him on to Mace, who’d sent Adi on to Micah, who’d sent Tuuvino into the center; Anakin had stepped out to join Quinlan, Jude was now circling Abella, Aayla was grinning at Garen, and Reeft was at Qui-Gon’s back. 

Anakin and Aayla were the first to be tossed into the air, both of them whipping past each other as they were tossed to the opposite side of the circle.  Garen caught Anakin and swung him around, putting him into the proper place for the next step.  Quinlan caught his giggling Padawan and put her on the ground, and Aayla transitioned perfectly into the next step of the dance as the drumbeat sounded and all of their feet came down.  The dancing pairs circled each other, palms came up, and this time it was Reeft whom Qui-Gon sent on to Mace, and Anakin who stepped up to replace him. 

Adi and Obi-Wan went over their heads next, both of them twisting in midair to slap hands as they passed by each other.  Not a necessary part of the dance, but it added another level of challenge, one Qui-Gon knew his mate wasn’t able to resist. 

The drumbeat picked up slowly as they circled each other, setting a faster pace.  They rotated through the circle, taking turns flying overhead, pounding the ground with their steps.  The inhabitants of Falaft had joined in, clapping and stomping the ground in time, keeping pace with the drummers and cheering every time there was a successful toss.

Qui-Gon found Obi-Wan in his arms again, and they stepped around each other, palm to palm, and there was a challenging smile on the man’s face that Qui-Gon was all too willing to answer.  “Double-time!” he roared, and the other dancers of the _con daska_ shouted their agreement just before Obi-Wan picked Qui-Gon up and sent him flying.  He rolled in midair, slapping Micah’s hands and yanking his arms out of the way just as Adi and Mace flew through the space between them.

When the next set of four flyers went into the air, the crowd went wild, whooping enthusiasm as partnered sets traded off and took flight, over and over again.  Sweat was pouring from his body, and Qui-Gon’s hair was flying out with every step.  If they kept it up much longer, they were going to be using Force-enhanced speed.  His heart was pounding in time with the sounds that set their pace, and the Living Force was a tidal wave that could never drown him, stronger and brighter than even the greatest bonfire. 

Reeft, Garen, Mace, and Abella went through the air, Reeft and Garen the only pair to clap hands as they passed by each other.  The circle changed one last time, and Qui-Gon had Obi-Wan back in his arms.  The final two steps were taken and then he was kissing the mate of his heart, putting his hands around Obi-Wan’s slight waist and lifting him from the ground.  Obi-Wan laughed against his lips and encircled Qui-Gon’s neck with his arms, a willing participant to the unexpected end of the _con daska_.

The last drumbeat sounded, and the residents and farmers of Falaft cheered and surrounded them, offering the sweat-soaked, laughing, delighted Jedi cold ale and congratulating them on a dance well-performed.  Qui-Gon had no sooner put Obi-Wan down than a mug was thrust into his left hand, and a wet towel into his right, and he put them both to good use.

Padmé shoved her way through the crowd, found Anakin, and planted a kiss right on the startled boy’s lips.  “That was beautiful!  I didn’t know anyone could dance like that!” she shouted out over the din.

Anakin’s jaw hung open as he looked up at Padmé.  “Uh—don’t worry, you’ll hate it once you’ve been forced to learn it!”

“You don’t seem to hate it,” Padmé replied, a teasing lilt in her voice, and Anakin’s already-flushed cheeks turned a darker shade of red.

“That was excellent!” Ishtan yelled, pounding on Micah’s shoulder as the other man tried to wipe the sweat from his face.  “Do it again!”

“Man, are you trying to kill us?” Garen asked, before slugging back half of the ale he’d been given.

Terza showed up next to them, giving Obi-Wan a subtle once-over that the younger man pointedly ignored.  “That was very well done,” she said, grinning.  “I haven’t seen a _con daska_ performed so well in years.”

“Yes,” Adi agreed, her entire face lit up with happiness.  She was still standing very close to Mace, who hadn’t yet drawn away.  “Thank you very much for suggesting it, Qui-Gon.”

“You’re welcome, Adi,” he said, lowering his head in an abbreviated bow. 

“Hey, y’ know what’s next, right?” Ris asked, appearing at Obi-Wan’s side and elbowing him in the ribs.  The man’s skin, always florid, was now bright red and glistening.  With his orange hair sticking straight up from his scalp, he looked like a bonfire himself.

“What’s that, Ris?” Obi-Wan asked, blinking several times when Ris looked in his direction.  _Oh, dear.  This man is pickled_ , Obi-Wan told Qui-Gon, who bit his tongue to keep from laughing at the storekeeper.

“Time for th’ _singing_!” he shouted, and the chant was picked up by the rest of the crew, Cliegg’s rough voice audible above the rest. 

“Who’s going first?” Jo shouted.

“Ben!” Ishtan and Sev hollered together.  “Ben!”

“Hey!” Obi-Wan shouted back.  “I just got through performing.  Pick someone else!”

“No way!” Sev shook his head.  “We’ve been waiting to hear that one song again for two years, now.  It’s gotta be you, first!”

Obi-Wan gave Qui-Gon a perplexed look.  “What song?”

The Mirrissi shopkeeper, Lania, smiled.  “I do believe the boys refer to it as the “Fuck you to the Universe” song.”

“That is _not_ the name of that song!” Obi-Wan sputtered, laughing. 

“Oh, come on, it’d be an awesome name for that song!” Jo butted in, and crooned in a surprisingly good baritone:  _“Some days you’ve just gotta say Fuck you! to the Universe!”_

“You’ve got until I’m done to finish composing a song around that line,” Obi-Wan said, giving the big man a stern glare, which set the crowd off again as they realized that they were going to get their wish. 

“You’re going to sing?  Really?” Abella looked like she was about to squeal with joy.  “You have to do one with me, too!”

“Do we _all_ have to sing?” Garen asked, looking horrified.  “I sound like a flock of mating mynocks if I sing!”

“Yes, please tell me it’s not a requirement.  We must be spared the mynocks,” Reeft agreed, deadpan, which earned him a punch in the shoulder from his significant other.

“Perhaps we can sing together,” Qui-Gon told Garen.  “Between the disharmonious sounds we’d create, we could clear out the entire field.”

“You,” Obi-Wan growled at him, “have a very nice voice.”  He tugged on Qui-Gon’s hair, pulling him down for another swift kiss. 

“Nowhere near as wonderful as yours, love,” Qui-Gon told him in all seriousness.

“Flatterer,” Obi-Wan said, rolling his eyes before walking over to greet the enthusiastic band.  The infamous song was apparently well-liked, though for the life of him, Qui-Gon had no idea _which_ song people were referring to.  Obi-Wan had sung several tunes at his parents’ reception, which had surprised and delighted Qui-Gon at the time.

He was wondering if there was going to be a repeat performance at their own reception when Tahl joined him, putting her arm around his waist.  “I heard something about Obi-Wan and singing.  This will be worth hearing, won’t it?”

Qui-Gon turned his head and planted a kiss on her cheek.  “Absolutely.”

“Now this is the Qui-Gon Jinn I missed for so many years,” Tahl whispered, smiling, and he draped his arm over her shoulder as the first notes of the mysterious song struck the air.

Even if everyone hadn’t quieted the moment the music started, Obi-Wan could project his voice very well, and not a note would have been lost.  However, Qui-Gon was glad for the silence, because it meant he could focus on his mate’s elegant, powerful tenor.

As if hearing the thought, Obi-Wan smiled and began to sing.

_“I don’t need a reason to be breathing,_

_I’m only here, doing what I can_

_I won’t ever tell you that I failed you_

_I’d rather start life over again_

_No, I’m sorry to say,_

_There’ll be no sacrifice today!”_

“Ah,” Qui-Gon said, grinning as the cheering broke out at the chorus line.  So this was the song Falaft was so enamored of.

_“I can see clearly_

_Why you feel me_

_Why do you try to bring me down?_

_I don’t want to fight you_

_Just to spite you—”_

Qui-Gon thought he was going to go deaf when half of the citizens of Falaft shouted the next line along with Obi-Wan:  _“But I’m not afraid to take you out!”_

_“No, I’m sorry to say_

_There’ll be no sacrifice today!_

_Everybody expects me to break_

_But I'll never break down again_

_Everybody expects me to give up_

_But you'll never see me giving in_

_Everybody wants me to lose_

_But I'll never lose who I am_

_No, I'm sorry to say_

_There'll be no sacrifice today!”_

Tahl was applauding just as enthusiastically as Qui-Gon was, the sound almost drowned out by the roar of approval from their friends and neighbors.  “My gods, that man has a _voice_!”

“Indeed he does,” Qui-Gon agreed, gazing at his mate in unabashed delight.  Obi-Wan was trying to wave off the applause, a blush coloring his cheeks.  Qui-Gon knew that Obi-Wan enjoyed singing—it was the adulation afterward that he didn’t care for.

He received no chance to escape from it, because Abella pounced.  “Our turn now,” she said, smiling sweetly at Obi-Wan when he glared at her.  “It’ll be fun.  We haven’t sung a duet together since we were young Padawans.”

 _Please?_ Qui-Gon added, when Obi-Wan bit his lip.  _I love listening to you._

 _Ridiculous, the lot of you,_ Obi-Wan said, giving in.  _I will, but only because you asked very nicely._

 _I’ll give you a blowjob tonight if you sing three songs,_ Qui-Gon countered, knowing there was a merciless smile on his face.

Obi-Wan blinked at him.  _Oh—oh, my.  Yes.  Uh.  Right.  It’s all about the right sort of motivation, isn’t it?_

 _You taught me to cook in similar fashion, I do recall,_ Qui-Gon replied, letting Obi-Wan feel his delight with both his voice and the method of bribery.

Obi-Wan grinned, slung his arm around Abella’s shoulders, and whispered in her ear.  She smiled, clasping her hands together, and then turned to say something to the closest musicians. 

The music started up, and to his surprise it was a song that had been famous when Qui-Gon had been a child, just old enough to wear Initiate’s Whites.  Obi-Wan and Abella sang it together, almost shouting it out, imbuing the lyrics with fierce joy.

_“There's always cracks_

_Crack of sunlight_

_Crack in the mirror on your lips_

_It's the moment of a sunset_

_When our conversations twist_

_We only spun the web to catch ourselves_

_So we weren't left for dead_

_And I was never looking for approval from anyone but you_

_And though this journey is over_

_I'll go back if you ask me to_

_I'm a winter flower underground_

_Always thirsty for summer rain_

_And just like the change of seasons_

_I know you'll be back again_

_I’m not dead, just floating_

_I’m not scared, just changing_

_You’re my crack of sunlight!”_

“I think I understand that song so much better now than I ever did as a child,” Tahl said.  He realized their hands were laced together, that they had sought each other’s touch unconsciously while listening to Obi-Wan and Abella sing.

He nodded, watching as Obi-Wan whispered something to Abella before hugging her.  The Chitanook went straight to her Master, who was waiting for her with open arms and a wide smile.

Obi-Wan conferred with one of the musicians for a few minutes, an older man with a stringed vitaiola.  His multi-barred bow rested casually across the strings with the unconscious ease of someone who had been playing the instrument for decades. 

The old man nodded, grinned, and did a quick, muted scale on the instrument.  Obi-Wan smiled and stepped away, turning his attention back to his waiting audience. 

“I was going to save this one for the reception,” Obi-Wan said, resting his hands casually behind his back as he regarded those watching him.  “However, I’ve been convinced to share it now…and I think maybe it’s the right time for it, anyway.”  He gestured; the old man with the vitaiola put the bow to the strings and began pulling forth a haunting, lovely melody that Qui-Gon had never heard before.

Obi-Wan looked into Qui-Gon’s eyes, smiled, and began to sing.

_“My song for you comes to me_

_Like a brand upon my lips_

_Aching and worn_

_Tired, exhilarated, flying—_

_Just breathe._

_I can feel you singing to me now._

_I am wind to you_

_Coming from unknowable places_

_Moving on to sunlit distances_

_But still I'm touching you_

_Just breathe._

_I can feel you singing to me now._

_Be with me, I’ll share_

_Unknowable distances,_

_Sunlight places._

_Breathe for me:_

_Can’t you feel me singing to you now?”_

Obi-Wan’s voice faded, the vitaiola’s strings quieted, and it was if everyone was waking up from deep sleep to shocked reality.  The applause was scattered until awareness caught up with Falaft and the Jedi.  Then there was cheering in earnest, shouted encouragement and praise.  Even the Force-blind would have felt the emotion that Obi-Wan had poured into that song, both in its construction and its performance—and Qui-Gon had no doubt that Obi-Wan had written it himself some quiet night, holding a stylus to the pages of one of his leather-bound journals.

The celebration went on long after Obi-Wan was replaced by another singer.  It was only a few hours before dawn when Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan stumbled into their bedroom, barely mustering the energy to get undressed before collapsing into bed. 

For Qui-Gon, the night’s conclusion was Obi-Wan’s final song, one of the most beautiful pledges of love he’d ever heard in his life—and it was his.

 

Harvest Festival, Day 4

Obi-Wan woke up to the unmistakable feel of a tongue licking the underside of his half-erect cock.  “Oh, my—holy _fuck,_ good morning!” he yelped, fisting the sheets when he was engulfed. 

 _Well, we didn’t quite get to this last night, and I did want to keep my word,_ Qui-Gon said, his thoughts a thrum of pleasure that matched the physical humming that he was subjecting Obi-Wan’s cock to.  Half-erect went to fully erect and attentive in the space of a heartbeat.

“No complaints from me!” Obi-Wan gasped out, trying to thrust up into Qui-Gon’s wonderfully talented mouth.  Qui-Gon chuckled and put his hands on Obi-Wan’s hips, holding him in place.

Obi-Wan gave up and let his head fall back onto his pillow, eyes rolled back, mouth open wide as he gave himself over to his mate’s very thorough ministrations.  Qui-Gon’s tongue teased his slit, then the underside of his head, each flick of his tongue in perfect time with the up-and-down motion of his hand on the base of Obi-Wan’s cock.  Then Qui-Gon swallowed him down, all the way, and he groaned when the head of his cock bumped the back of his mate’s throat.

Qui-Gon chuckled again, the sound almost torturous as it vibrated sensitive skin, and then he proceeded to suck hard.  Obi-Wan lasted only a few seconds before he was coming, shaking helplessly against the hands that were still holding him down, his vision graying out from the shocked intensity of being accosted so early in the morning.

He opened his eyes to find Qui-Gon sitting up in the bed next to him, running his fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair.  “Now that was worth getting up early for,” Qui-Gon murmured, and Obi-Wan smiled.

“Well, you got part of me up, that’s for sure,” he replied, and Qui-Gon laughed, shaking his head.

“I need to go,” Qui-Gon said, his smile fading.  “If I don’t get out of here now, I won’t leave, and neither of us will be able to walk across that dais tomorrow.”

“Normally I’d prefer that option, but we did agree to abide by those stupid traditions,” Obi-Wan said, yawning.  “Give me a kiss and go.  Tomorrow will be here soon enough, and then I have you all to myself for an entire week.”

Qui-Gon bent down, kissing him with gentle thoroughness.  The feel of warm, slick lips and the faint taste of himself on Qui-Gon’s tongue left Obi-Wan’s cock twitching and interested in another round. 

“Until tomorrow, _mi pa’amourte_ ,” Qui-Gon whispered.

“Love you,” Obi-Wan smiled, and watched with still-sleepy eyes as Qui-Gon picked up his pack and boots, slipping out the door and closing it softly.

Teya wasted no time in jumping back up onto the bed, settling down next to Obi-Wan’s head and purring like a mad fiend as he reclaimed his favorite sleeping spot. 

“All right, fine,” he muttered, letting his eyes drift back closed.  As wonderful a wake up call as Qui-Gon had given him, he still tired easily.  There was enough to do today that he didn’t want to chance needing a nap in the midst of it all.  He could forgive himself one day of sleeping in.

He helped himself to the scattered remains of everyone else’s breakfasts and sat down in the kitchen, nursing a cup of tea as he scrolled through the day’s newsfeeds.  Palpatine’s trial in absentia was no longer the first headline of the day.  Even the gossip mongers had moved on in light of the utter lack of new information.  Thank the Force for small favors. 

His name had been in the feeds so often that he’d started having Artoo and Threepio summarize the day’s news, so he wouldn’t have to read about his exploits on Naboo over and over again.  (The rumors of his life, at least, were funny.)  The trial was nearing its end, and despite resistance from certain organizations, it looked to be a clear win for their side.  Between the records the Naboo had scrounged up, Palpatine’s taped confession, the testimony of the attending Jedi (his own testimony had been limited to a holo-recording), Palpatine’s clear association with Maul, and the hidden Sith palace in the Industrial Zone, there was little Palpatine’s remaining allies could say in the former Senator’s defense.  The testimony of Rackthor and his sisters had been the last necessary log to build the pyre.

“Good morning,” Tahl said, sitting down beside him at the kitchen table.  Micah arrived a moment later, taking a chair across from them.

“Morning,” Obi-Wan greeted them both.  Teya chose that moment to jump onto the table.  “Get down, you.”

The kitten meh’d at him.  Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and held out a strip of _rak_ , which Teya took with gentle teeth and dropped off the table, eating his prize on the floor.  “Spoiled brat.”

“Little shadow, huh?” Micah reached down and scratched Teya’s ears.  “He doesn’t look so little.”

“Not anymore,” Obi-Wan agreed, smiling.  For a kitten that was only a few months old, Teya was already long and lean, and he still had over a year and a half’s worth of growing to do.  “He’s going to be gigantic.”

Tahl smiled in his direction.  “I know it’s a bit early, but Micah and I have a gift for you.  In the most technical sense, it’s a gift for both of you, but it must be delivered into your hands, first.”

“Er—all right, I’ll bite,” Obi-Wan said, glancing back and forth at his mate’s oldest friends.  “What is it?”

“First, it’s story time,” Micah said, resting his arms on the table.  “You’ve noticed, I’m sure, that Qui-Gon has very little in the way of holos or flat pics.”

Obi-Wan nodded.  “I did wonder about that, but it always seemed wrong to ask.  I figured out later, when holos of our time together began showing up in our quarters, that the lack had something to do with Xanatos.”

“As did most things, unfortunately,” Tahl agreed, nodding.  “You know that our Qui-Gon is a very emotional person, both from his ties to the Living Force and because of who he is.  When Xanatos Fell, when he flung hatred and loathing into Qui-Gon’s face over his father’s body…it was…”  Tahl rubbed her forehead with one hand.  “It was like scalding water to his psyche, really.  Qui-Gon was prepared to face anger and hate from many quarters, but from his own Padawan?  From Xan?”  She shook her head.

Micah took up the tale, not even a hint of a smile on his normally jovial face.  “He came back from Telos and went straight to the Council.  I wasn’t on it at the time, but Master Yoda told us later that he didn’t even speak of what happened.  He just dropped his shields and let the Council piece it together. 

“When the Council decreed that Qui-Gon had done no wrong, that the fault and blame lay with Xanatos, he left their presence, still not speaking.  I wonder, perhaps, had Tahl or I had been on Coruscant that day, if we might have been able to help prevent what came next.  Regardless, we know that Qui-Gon went back to his quarters and stripped all of the rooms bare.  Everything of Xanatos’s went, of course, but Qui-Gon got rid of everything he owned.  Every picture, every piece of art, every souvenir, clothing, kitchen items, furniture—nothing was left.  If he couldn’t carry it on his person, it went into the garbage or down to the recycling pile.”

Obi-Wan blinked back unexpected tears.  “He wasn’t planning on coming back.  I never—I never knew that.”

“It wasn’t a very nice part of his life, and even now he doesn’t like to talk about it.  We gained his permission, of course, to discuss it with you.  He wanted you to know, before the ceremony tomorrow, what that part of his life was like,” Tahl said, resting her hand on top of Obi-Wan’s. 

“We didn’t tell him there was a gift involved, of course,” Micah added.

“Qui-Gon requested a mission from the Council, and against their better judgment, they gave him one.  We all knew he was hurting, that he blamed himself, but there was no dissuading him.”  Tahl sighed.  “One mission turned into two, then four, then six, and suddenly he’d been gone from the Temple for over a year.  Then two years.  Then three.  The Council tried threatening him into returning, told him that he must come back or lose his place in the Order.  Qui-Gon told them that they should do what they felt was best, and he would also.”

Obi-Wan bit his lip against the smile that wanted to form.  Yes, that certainly sounded like Qui-Gon Jinn in stubborn Master mode.

“So, they gave up,” Micah said.  “I was on the Council by that time, and with every holo communication we had with him, Qui-Gon looked worse.  His skills in negotiation were without fault, and there was no denying that he was doing a vast amount of good out there—but he looked hellish, Obi-Wan.  Even when he grew out the beard, there was no disguising the fact that he’d lost far too much weight, that he was burning himself down to nothing.”

“Fate intervened, though, in the form of a war on Tholatin,” Tahl continued.  “Qui-Gon stopped communicating with the Council after announcing the outbreak of fighting, so Micah, Master Yoda, and Mace, just onto the Council himself, arranged for Master T’ra Saa and her Padawan to investigate.”

“They found him, and T’ra had her Padawan, Licia, escort Qui-Gon back to the Temple while T’ra stayed to deal with the Tholatians.  He was a wreck,” Micah said, his eyes distant with memory.  “I still think that to say he was near death would be putting it kindly.  He was unconscious for most of a week as the Healers put him back together.”

“I stayed with him,” Tahl said with a wry smile.  “The entire time he was healing, I had this long speech planned in my head.  I was all ready to be kind and firm and verbally flay him for getting himself into such a mess.  Then he woke up, looked at me, and the only thing I could do was yell, “You ass!” and burst into tears.”  Tahl shook her head.  “Force bless him, all he said was, “Hello, Tahl,” and held my hand while I cried.”

“We spent a lot of time with him over the next few months, tearing our friend apart and putting him back together again until we had some semblance of Qui-Gon Jinn back,” Micah said.  “We elicited three promises from him.  The first—he wasn’t going to go right back out and try to off himself again, either directly or by working himself to death.  The second was that he wouldn’t disappear again, either.  He had to return to the Temple at least once every six months, and try to remember that he was part of a greater whole.”

“You remember what he was like when you met him, Obi-Wan,” Tahl said, squeezing Obi-Wan’s hand.  “That was the best we could get from him, considering the circumstances.”

“The third promise,” Micah added, “was that Qui-Gon wouldn’t try to hunt down Xanatos until he was certain he wouldn’t Fall, as well.”

“Putting Qui-Gon back together was a long process that wouldn’t be complete until after you came along.”  Tahl smiled at Obi-Wan.  “We know it wasn’t easy for you, when you were young, but Micah and I have always been grateful for what you did to help heal our friend.”

“And thus, our present,” Micah announced, picking up a forest-green book that Obi-Wan hadn’t noticed before.  Micah let it thump down onto the table-top with a grin.  “When we realized that Qui-Gon had tossed everything he owned, Tahl and I enlisted volunteers, and we went hunting.  This book is filled with flatpics and holodisks, and contains every picture of Qui-Gon Jinn we could scrounge up from the creche onward.  Some of them still feature Xanatos, of course, but I think we’ve all accepted his loss and moved on, now.  You might have noticed a couple before, in mine and Tahl’s quarters, but most of these images haven’t seen the light of day in fifteen years or better.  There’s even some of Kimal in here, and Force knows that man hates being photographed.”

“Originally, we gathered them up to give back to Qui-Gon, when he was ready to accept them.  By giving them to you, we ensure that he won’t try to do away with them.  He’d never dare throw away something that belonged to you,” Tahl said with a grin.

Obi-Wan ran his hands down the soft leather cover, and then flipped the book open, catching sight of pics and holodisks labeled with cramped handwriting.  There was a flatpic of a very young Qui-Gon, recognizable by his eyes and his poor broken nose, standing next to Micah.  Both of them looked a bit worse for wear, and both were sporting Padawan braids that looked to have been growing for about a year.  They were grinning with unabashed delight at whoever was taking the picture, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but grin back in response. 

He flipped the page and found two more flatpics, one of them unmistakably Tahl, with her green and gold striped eyes, standing next to Qui-Gon, who was still several inches shorter than the Noorian Padawan.  In another pic was Qui-Gon and a dark-haired Dooku.  There was no mistaking that neither of them looked very happy.  Dooku was frowning, his expression guarded and closed; Qui-Gon looked like he would prefer to be anywhere else.  His braid had grown another few inches; likely this marked the beginning of the time where Dooku and Qui-Gon had started to disagree on the nature of the Force—and anything else they could come up with.

“Here,” Tahl said, running her fingers along the edge of the pages until she found what she was looking for.  “This is at Licia’s Knighting, three months after Tholatin,” she said, and turned the pages.

Obi-Wan glanced down and found a single flatpic in residence.  Qui-Gon’s hair was still a deep brown, not yet fading to bronze, and only a few threads of silver showed at his temples.  It had either been cut recently or he was just growing it out, and was combed back so that it brushed his shoulders.  Qui-Gon’s eyes were dark and serious, and there was no hint of the laughing young man who had stood with his friends in earlier years.  Darker clothing, too; the brown trousers were in evidence, but Qui-Gon had topped it with a black set of tunics.  He was slouched over, an elbow resting on his knee, and looked supremely uninterested in the fact that his picture had been taken.  What caught Obi-Wan’s eyes was the man’s choice of footwear.  Qui-Gon was wearing black boots with silver eyelets that allowed the boots to be laced up to the knees. 

 _Oh, my_ , he thought, grinning.  “I wonder if he still has those.”

“The boots?” Tahl asked, while Micah laughed at Obi-Wan’s blatant interest.  “Who knows?  If they still exist, I imagine they’re lurking in the back of his closet somewhere.  I take it you approve of your gift?”

Obi-Wan closed the book, resisting the urge to hug it.  Yes, he and Qui-Gon could share their memories any time they wanted to, could tell stories of their respective pasts, but having a record of it—having _this_ —was a gift Obi-Wan had never expected.  “I approve very much,” he said, his voice rough.  “Thank you, both of you.  Believe me, I will treasure it.”

Ris stopped by an hour later, dropping off the clothes that Obi-Wan and Anakin would wear tomorrow.  Until he saw Ris give his Padawan the second bundle, Obi-Wan had no idea Anakin had even been to see the storekeeper.

Anakin shrugged, tucking the bagged items under his arm.  “Not only am I already outgrowing everything we replaced in the summer, I’m getting tired of white.”

Ris handed a third bundle to Owen, who’d managed to grow out of all of his formal clothing a week before the ceremony.  “Now don’t outgrow this set before tomorrow, alright?”

Owen grinned.  “Nossir.  See you tomorrow, Ris.”

Obi-Wan walked back to his room and shut the door.  He took a moment to take the plastic off the clothes, holding them up by the hangars Ris had provided.  He closed his eyes for a moment, breathed out, and then ran his free hand down the front of the shirt, feeling fine, soft material under his fingertips.  _It’s just clothing,_ he told himself sternly.  _It won’t eat you._

He hung the clothes in the press, ready to greet him in the morning, and then left the room.  His parents had gone into Falaft to make sure every detail of the ceremony and the reception would be ready for tomorrow, and Obi-Wan was content to let them deal with it.  In fact, he preferred it, and was still bemused by all of the fuss that seemed to go into getting married.  Jedi bondings were much simpler.

He found Garen with Reeft outdoors.  The day was warm, a throwback to a season already gone, and the two of them were sitting under a tree in the grove, unabashedly making out.  Obi-Wan watched for a moment, smiling, before clearing his throat.

Reeft jumped.  Garen leaned out to catch sight of Obi-Wan.  “What?” he barked.  “Can’t you see I’m busy?  Padawans don’t just corrupt themselves, you know.”

“I think the entire farm knows that you’re busy,” Obi-Wan drawled back, amused by Reeft’s violet blush.  “I need a favor.”

“What’s up?” Reeft said, trying to tuck his shirt back into place without being obvious. 

“I need a ride to Vasalt, a city on the southern end of the continent.  Takes about ten minutes to get there via Skipray,” Obi-Wan explained.  “I have an appointment to keep.”

“Eh, just take the ship,” Garen said, trying to wave him off to get back to what he was doing.  “I know you won’t crash her.”

“Thanks, but I won’t be able to pilot on the way back.  I’ll be healing my arm.”

Garen paused, giving Obi-Wan a curious look.  “Body artist appointment?”

Obi-Wan nodded.

“Cool, we’ll get to see it first,” Garen said, giving Reeft a hand-up.  “Besides, we can make out in the Skipray while he’s at his appointment, and it’ll be nice and warm.”

“Warm is good.  I like warm,” Reeft said, smiling.  “The ground here is frozen enough that my nether regions were starting to protest, heartmate.”

The trip to Vasalt went without incident, and Obi-Wan found the artist he’d spoken to via comm without difficulty.  Vana Shawn was an old woman with keen, piercing eyes and knotted fingers who, nonetheless, could hold her instrument of choice and draw precise lines for hours on end. 

“So you’re Ben, huh?” she said, looking him up and down when he entered her small studio.  “Thought you’d be older.”

“I’m a touch older than I look,” he said, smiling. 

“Well, let’s get to it,” Vana Shawn said, clapping her hands together.  “This’ll take hours, as it is.  Show me what you’ve got.”

Obi-Wan took the folded up piece of paper from his belt pouch, unfolding it on the old woman’s worktable.  She pulled over a lamp and turned it on, shining the bright light down on his sketch.  “Huh,” she mumbled, turning the paper this way and that.  “You do good work.  Steady hand.  Excellent language choice for the words, and a good, flowing script.  It’ll hurt,” she warned.

“I’m prepared for that,” Obi-Wan said.  “I was wondering if you had shimmer-shade ink?  I’ve heard good things about it.”

“Aye, I’ve got that,” she said, nodding, a pleased smile appearing on her face.  “You’ve studied the trade, didn’t just call me on a whim.  I like that.  What’s your color choices for the shading?”

He told her, and she nodded, considering the drawing again.  “You must’ve had family that was roaming stock,” she guessed.  “This is one of their traditions for folks getting married.”

“My mother’s family.  She traveled with the At’talr branch until she met my father on Tatooine.”

She nodded.  “Call me Vana, Ben,” she said, and held out her hand.  He took it, feeling warm skin and no little hint of Force sensitivity.  “Get the shirt off, Ben, and you can scrub down and shave off the hair on your arm while I mix my inks.”

The work was, as he’d been warned, long and painful.  He drifted, half in meditation, while Vana made his skin bleed and poured ink into the wounds. 

By the time dusk had fallen, she was slathering his arm in ointment from wrist to elbow.  “Now, I know what you are, so listen up.  If you speed-heal my work, be careful, because scabbing will tear the ink out.”  She pushed a fresh tube of the ointment into his hands.  “Every few minutes, wipe your arm down with this—give it a good, thick coat.  That’ll protect the ink while you heal.  If you’re careful, it’ll be dry and fully healed tomorrow morning.  Keep out of direct sunlight for a few days, and this ink will be just as vibrant the day you die as it is right now.”

Obi-Wan thanked her, paid her, and added an exorbitant tip to the bill.  She rolled her eyes but accepted it, then shooed him out the door.  For a moment, he felt light-headed from the pain and blood loss, but it only took a thought and his body was compensating. 

Obi-Wan returned to the Skipray to find Garen topless, and Reeft asleep in their shared room.  “Did you fuck that man into unconsciousness?” Obi-Wan teased, settling down in the copilot’s chair and resting his ointment-soaked arm across his chest.

“Oh, hell yeah,” Garen said, grinning.  “Even used one of those lil’ tricks you taught me.  Is that what you came down here for?” he asked, looking at Obi-Wan’s arm. 

Obi-Wan nodded, sending another mild tingle of healing along his skin, careful not to let the wounds scab.  “Excellent work,” Garen said appreciatively.  “That’s going to look awesome tomorrow.”

It was fully dark by the time they returned to the farm, and the stars shining overhead were just what Obi-Wan wanted to see if he couldn’t see his mate.  He settled out on the porch, chair positioned so he could see the sky.  Teya wasted no time in verbally reaming Obi-Wan for leaving him behind, then curled up on Obi-Wan’s knees. 

He smiled, scratched his grumbling companion behind his ears, and continued his healing work.  Pain he had been prepared for, but the ink was settling in now as his skin healed, and it _itched._ No one had told him anything could fucking _itch like this!_  

His father joined him for his evening smoke, lighting up the flavored tabbac with practiced ease.  The first moon of Kaazcint was full, and Cliegg had no trouble seeing the fresh ink on Obi-Wan’s left forearm.  “Nice work.  Is that one of Vana Shawn’s?”

Obi-Wan nodded.  “I think she liked me.  Said I was the first victim she’d ever had that really could hold still the entire time.”

Cliegg smiled.  “Your mother would have loved that, Obi-Wan.  Did I ever show you any pictures of her sleeve?”

He shook his head.  “I knew she had work done for your vows, but I’ve never seen it.  Did she really get a full sleeve?”

His father grinned.  “Oh, yeah, shoulder to wrist.  I thought she was a bit crazy, going through something like that just before our wedding, but she said it was the proper thing to do if you were At’talr.  Hell, I loved her.  She could have shaved her head bald, painted on a bunch of polka dots, and I would have just smiled and bought flowers to match.”  He reached out, resting his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.  “I’m glad you did it.  There’s not much left of the At’talr, anymore.  It’s good to see part of Aika’s life being passed on.”

Obi-Wan’s father went in for the night when the tabbac was done.  Obi-Wan smiled up at the stars, feeling eased by his father’s words in a way that he hadn’t expected.  It wasn’t that he’d sought out anyone’s approval, but having it was nice. 

He touched on the bond, hoping he wasn’t going to wake Qui-Gon up.  _Good evening,_ his mate replied, not even a hint of drowsiness in his tone.  _I was hoping you would say goodnight._

 _Always, Qui,_ Obi-Wan said, watching in amusement as Teya lifted his head, looking this way and that, clearly puzzled, as if he could hear an echo of Qui-Gon’s voice.  _Sorry it wasn’t earlier, but I had things to attend to._

_I heard.  Shmi let me know that you’d gone down to Vasalt._

Obi-Wan grinned.  _She caught you fretting, didn’t she?_

Qui-Gon sighed.  _Yes.  I felt that you were in pain; of course I was fretting.  What happened?_

_Nothing to be concerned with.  It’ll have healed by tomorrow, anyway._

Hesitation.  _You’re teasing me, aren’t you?_

_Mmm-hmm._

_Imp.  I do love you, Obi-Wan.  I’m going to go meditate, for I fear sleep and I will not meet for some time yet.  Falling asleep during our vows would not impress anyone, save Yoda._

Obi-Wan laughed aloud, making Teya start again.  _I love you, Qui-Gon.  I’ll try to rest if you will.  Force knows we’d never hear the end of it if we both slept through the ceremony._

 _See you tomorrow,_ Qui-Gon said, and there was an echo of a Force-touch to his cheek, one so ingrained in Obi-Wan’s memory that it almost brought tears to his eyes.

 _With bells on,_ he replied.

There was a marked pause in their contact.  _…Really?_

 _Go to bed, Qui-Gon Jinn,_ Obi-Wan said, smiling, and felt the connection fade gradually.  Both of them were reluctant to let go. 

Force, but they had gotten so _used_ to each other!  He and Qui-Gon hadn’t spent a night without each other since Naboo.  It was a harsh reality they would have to get used to.  Even if they remained a working team, there were going to be times when they would have to be apart.

 _May those times be few,_ he thought, the words a prayer to the Force.

Obi-Wan waited until his family was in bed, along with most of the Padawans (except for Siri and Su’um-Va, who were gods knew where doing Force knew what) before he knocked on the door to the room that Jale Terza and Abella were sharing.  It opened immediately, revealing Terza, her finger resting on her lips.  The older woman was as much an insomniac as he was, but Abella would have gone to bed at least an hour ago.

Terza slipped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.  Obi-Wan led them both down to the closest ‘fresher and turned on the light.  “You know, when you asked me to do this earlier, I thought you were kidding,” she said, eyeing the scissors in his hand.  “Why me?”

“Well, you’ve seen the haircuts my father and brother are sporting,” he said, smiling.  “Mom’s worse at it, and everyone in my age group thinks I should grow it out until it’s trailing on the floor.”

Terza grinned.  “Well, it _is_ pretty,” she said, reaching out and running her fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair.  It was the longest he’d ever had it in his life—either of his lives.  “How short do you want it?”

He motioned with his hands, and she nodded.  “I can do that.”

He gave her a suspicious glance.  “No Padawan cuts.”

She smiled.  “No Padawan cuts.  I wouldn’t do that to you on the eve of your wedding.  Fortunately for you, I do have some talent with scissors, or Bella would have looked ridiculous for the entirety of her apprenticeship.”

Terza went to work with the scissors, and he forced himself to stillness, staring at the ceiling instead of the mirror.  For some reason, getting a haircut was a distasteful experience, one he’d felt keenly even when he hadn’t been restricted to a Padawan’s spike.  It was why he’d let his hair get this long, why his hair had grown long at other times.  If he kept it short, he could bear it more often, but sometimes cutting off his own long hair felt like he was cutting off miniscule parts of himself.  He tried and failed to restrain a shiver.

“Problems?” Terza asked, pausing in her work.

“No problems, not with what you’re doing,” Obi-Wan reassured her.  “I plan on donating everything you cut off.  Think they’ll have a use for virgin red?”

She snickered.  “I think people would fight each other for the chance to have your hair, Obi-Wan.  What will Qui-Gon think?”

“One of the purposes of a wedding ceremony is to stun your partner, right?” he asked, brushing a stubborn lock of hair off of his shoulder after she’d cut it.

“Something like that,” Terza agreed, and he bit his tongue as fingers and scissors pulled at his scalp in uncomfortable ways.

“Well, between the haircut, the ink, and the outfit, Anakin is placing bets about us having to scoop him back up off the floor,” Obi-Wan replied, and grinned when Terza burst out laughing.

“Considering that Anakin won the last wager in the Temple, I don’t plan on betting against him,” Terza said.  She finished within moments, brushing her fingers through his hair to toss loose strands free.  Copper threads rained down onto his neck and shirt, sticking to his skin, but he’d planned a shower for the morning, anyway.  “There,” she said.  “Tell me what you think.”

Obi-Wan glanced in the mirror, brushing hair off of his nose as he did so.  “Huh.  Excellent,” he said, turning to the side.  “Definitely not a Padawan cut.  In fact, that’s…really good,” he continued, raising his eyebrows.  He’d never put that much stock into his own appearance, but he knew quality when he saw it.  It was part of his training.  “If you ever stop being a Healer, the boutiques on Coruscant would wage a war to hire you on.”

“Good to know,” she said wryly. 

 

Republic Standard Date 5200: 7/30th

Harvest Festival, Day 5

Breakfast that morning was a speedy affair as everyone tried to eat quickly enough to get back to what they needed to do.  The rush still wasn’t enough to keep people from noticing Obi-Wan’s hair, and more than one of his friends gave him a stern glare (or swore at him) for cutting it off. 

“You want long hair, you grow it out,” he told them all cheerfully, relishing the feel of water dripping off the short ends, still wet from his shower.  He felt kilos lighter, as if he’d ditched some spiritual baggage along with his hair.  Ridiculous notion, but it was how he felt. 

He was intent on remaining cheerful, and trying not to focusing on how nervous he was now that the day was actually here.  “You know, I’ve stood and spoken in front of vast crowds so many times I’ve lost count,” he said to Anakin, when they both had a free moment.  “And it never bothered me.  But they were looking at a Jedi, not Obi-Wan Kenobi.  I hate being stared at when people are looking at _me_.”

Anakin grinned.  “Don’t worry.  You’ll see Qui-Gon and forget that the rest of us exist, believe me.”

Obi-Wan glanced down at his apprentice.  “Oh?  Speaking from experience?”

Anakin nodded.  “I was dead certain I was going to flub every single one of my wedding vows,” he said.  “And then I saw Padmé, and…well.”  He smiled, but there was an echo of sadness in his clear blue eyes.  “You’ll find out, Master.”

They parted ways to dress, and Obi-Wan shut himself in his room and stared at Ris’s work for a full ten minutes before he finally picked up the undershirt.  He put on each garment slowly, treating the entire session as a meditation to keep his heart from trying to double-time on him. 

By the time he’d pulled on his boots, which had been cleaned and shined just for the day, Obi-Wan had broken out in a light sweat.  He swallowed and brushed his hair back from his forehead.  What had he been thinking?  This was a horrible idea.  _Gods._

_You too, hmm?_

_We should’ve eloped.  It would have been less complicated_ ,Obi-Wan replied, sitting on the bed and threading his fingers together.

 _I did suggest it,_ Qui-Gon teased.  _You said they’d hunt us down and make us do it anyway._

That was true.  Obi-Wan sighed and threw himself back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.  _Tell me something to take my mind off of things._

_I am completely naked right now._

His train of thought came to a screeching halt.  _Well.  That’s one way of getting my attention,_ he said approvingly.  _Tell me more?_

_No, sorry.  I can’t do that.  You don’t get those sorts of details again until tonight._

Obi-Wan groaned aloud in frustration.  _That is_ evil _._

 _It’s all about the right sort of motivation, love,_ Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan could practically hear the man’s smug satisfaction.  _Get through today, and I’m all yours tonight._

_Promise?_

_You know I do,_ Qui-Gon answered.  _And every night thereafter._

Obi-Wan smiled.  _You think that priest’s head would implode if we added something about daily sex to our vows?_ he asked, and Qui-Gon’s mental laugh rang through his head.

By the time Anakin came to get him, his nerves had faded, and he was looking forward to the ceremony once more.  Or, at the very least, tonight,Obi-Wan conceded to himself.

Anakin was wearing the darker browns he’d taken up after his sixteenth year, his tabards resting over a crisp black dress shirt.  They both stared at each other for a moment.  Anakin broke the silence first, a quaver in his voice.  “Is—is that for…?”

Obi-Wan nodded.  “I thought, given everything that happened, that the choice should be honored.”

Anakin managed a smile, his eyes overbright with unshed tears.  “Yeah.  I think it’s a wonderful idea, Master.”

“And you, Padawan?” Obi-Wan asked, smiling back.

He shrugged.  “I don’t mind all that much, being ten again, but some days I just want to feel more like _me._ I think I’m going to stick with them when we go back to Coruscant.  Is that all right?”

Obi-Wan dropped to his knees so that he could hug his Padawan properly.  “I think it’s excellent.”

Neither of them were quite dry-eyed when the embrace was done, but it wasn’t the first time they’d shed tears in front of each other.  Obi-Wan wiped his face with his sleeve and stood up.

“Oh!” Anakin exclaimed, swatting himself upside the head.  “I almost forgot.  You and Qui-Gon have two more guests, and they came here first.  C’mon!” he said, leading the way down the hall to the farm’s main living area. 

Obi-Wan stopped short when he saw who was waiting, and then strode forward, giving the dark-haired woman waiting for him a strong hug that she returned in full measure.  “Eve Koh,” he said, stepping back to grin at her.  “Where in the worlds did you come from?”

“Watch it, Ben,” she retorted, grinning up at him.  “It’s Corporal Koh, now, and you’ll be wanting to remain on my good side to stay in good with Judicial.”

“Listen to the mechanic, now,” Obi-Wan teased, and hugged her again just for good measure.  He hadn’t seen the girl since she’d become a gainful, lawful employee of Judicial Forces after the Yinchorri affair.  Koh hadn’t gained any height, but at nineteen she seemed far more adult than she had while serving as Vilmarh Grahrk’s Third in command.  “Is Thol with you?”

“Thol’s outside, looking at the Nerfs with suspicion and sitting on our speeder.  I think he believes the things will steal it if he turns his back.  City boy,” Eve said, rolling her eyes.

He laughed, delighted.  He’d sent the invites, but knowing Judicial’s schedules and Koh’s own erratic tendencies, Obi-Wan hadn’t thought the two would be able to make it.  “It’s good to see you, Corporal.”

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Eve said, leaning forward and mock-whispering in his ear.  “We’re sleeping together.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head.  “Isn’t Thol Heeniir about twenty years older than you are?”

“And just who are you marrying again, Obi-Wan Kenobi?” she asked, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

He bowed.  “Point taken, and I’m being rude.  Eve Koh, this is Anakin Skywalker, my Padawan.”

Eve smiled at Anakin, reaching out and taking his hand in a smuggler’s grip, and didn’t seem all that surprised when he knew how to answer her in kind.  “You seem a lot older in person, Padawan Skywalker,” she said, giving him a careful look.  “I’ve seen the vids for the Battle of Theed just about every damn time the news is on.  At the very least, you’re certainly taller.”

“I kind of get that a lot,” Anakin said, looking sheepish.  “Nice to meet you, Eve Koh.  Thanks for keeping Obi-Wan in one piece so that he could actually be my Master.”

“No problem, kid,” Eve replied, bowing at Anakin.  The motion even looked practiced.  “Come on, then.  Let’s go get Thol, before he gets nervous and starts shooting at the chickens.”

Thol Heeniir was indeed eyeing the livestock with distaste, but when he saw Obi-Wan, his grim expression lightened to the straightforward, sober countenance he tended to greet everyone with.  He hugged Obi-Wan, congratulated him, and then gave him a lengthy speech on the duties of a mate before pounding Obi-Wan on the back with a huge grin. 

Garen pulled Reeft over to meet them, whereupon mild chaos broke out anew as Thol and Eve recognized their one-time ally.  Then Rillian joined them, wanting to know who was who, and the conversation that commenced lasted as they walked together down the hard-packed dirt track to Falaft, the last group to leave. 

The day was clear, chilly without being cold, and the last of the leaves were fluttering on bare branches.  Obi-Wan took a deep breath of air and cataloged every scent, every sensation, wanting to remember as much of this day as he could.  One day, it would be his anniversary.

 

*          *          *          *

 

“So, you nervous?”

Qui-Gon opened his eyes, abandoning what had been a failed attempt at meditation.  He looked up at Micah, who was grinning broadly, and Tahl, who looked like she was about to swat her husband. 

As the ones he’d chosen to stand with him during the ceremony, they were the only two aside from Rillian who would have gotten past Mace.  The senior Councilor had taken it upon himself to keep too-curious Padawans—or other Masters—at bay.  The act wasn’t necessary, but Qui-Gon understood the intent behind it, and was flattered. 

“Not a bit,” he said, pleased that he could answer Micah’s question honestly.

“Good.  Come on then, stand up,” Tahl said, holding out her hand.  “I want to have a look at you—I haven’t seen the entire outfit yet.”

Qui-Gon smiled and took her hand, levering himself to his feet.  “I feel as if I’m wearing a costume.”

“In a sense, you are,” Micah agreed.  “But it’s a very nice one, so enjoy it.”

“Costume, hah,” Tahl muttered, taking Micah’s hand.  “That would be why I chose your clothes, dearheart.  Now shut up and look at him so I can see.”

Micah grinned and looked at Qui-Gon squarely.  His eyes didn’t change in any physical way, but Qui-Gon could feel it when Tahl looked at him through her mate’s eyes.  “Well?”

Tahl smiled.  “I love it.  It’s perfect.  Now, about your hair.”

He stopped smiling and resisted the urge to take a step back.  “There’s not a thing wrong with my hair.”

Tahl rolled her eyes.  “Yes, but you also didn’t do a thing with it.  Men,” she sighed.  “Sit down in that chair and let me do something about this before your Padawan gets here.”

Qui-Gon sat down in the indicated chair.  “Tahl, the last time I let you do anything to my hair, it was purple for three weeks.”

She grinned.  “And it was absolutely gorgeous, too.  Dooku just had no sense of taste.”

“Did learn he had a sense of humor, though,” Micah said, leaning on his staff while Tahl set to work, separating Qui-Gon’s unbound hair into sections with deft movements of her hands.  Her touch was so gentle that he didn’t feel so much as a twinge of disagreement from his scalp.  “Kept calling you his Purple Padawan that entire month.”

“I believe your Master set the standard, though,” Qui-Gon said, smiling in remembrance.  “Master kel Ta kept asking me if the rug matched the drapes.  Thank the Force I had no idea what that meant until the purple had been gone for a year.”

“Yeah.  Force, I miss that woman,” Micah said wistfully.  “She laughed her head off when they invited me to join the Council.  Said they deserved what they were getting.”

“Indeed they did,” Qui-Gon agreed.  “And she would have been the first in line to congratulate you and Tahl.”

Tahl snorted.  “She also would have smacked him upside the head and told him he was an oblivious idiot.”

“Truth,” Micah said, nodding.  “If he hadn’t left the Order, would you want Dooku here, Qui-Gon?”

He’d thought about that question a lot in the past few days.  “I doubt he’d show up even if I’d decided to invite him, really,” Qui-Gon said.  “We all know that this wasn’t something he approved of.  I will accept the congratulations he already offered and expect nothing further.”  _And I will continue to hope that he isn’t foolish enough to keep following Sidious’s path_

“Was I the only one of our agemates with a normal Master?” Tahl asked.

“You had Tyvokka the Wookiee,” Micah said, amused.  “Normal is a relative term, dearheart.”

“There,” Tahl said a moment later, with one last tug.  “Take a look.  It’s worth it.”

He stood up and glanced in the mirror attached to the room’s door, and had to admit that Tahl’s skills with hair had increased tenfold since their childhood.  “Thank you,” he said, and meant it.  “What would I do without you, dear friend?”

“Your wardrobe would be boring, and you’d be ill-groomed,” Tahl drawled.

The door swung open, and Rillian bolted inside, skidding to a stop directly in front of her Master.  Micah shut the door behind her.  [Wow!] she barked, staring up at Qui-Gon in amazement.  [You look awesome, Master!]

“And you!” Qui-Gon exclaimed, putting his hands on his Padawan’s shoulders.  “Where did you get the robe?”

Rillian grinned.  [Master Koon finally made it, and he brought this for me!  He said it used to be his Master’s, and he even made sure it was altered so it would fit me.  Isn’t it excellent?] she asked, holding up her arms to show off the robe.  It was a very light tan, with brown embroidery along the sleeve edges. Matching embroidery was sewn along the collar and bottom edges.  [I thought since it’s actually cold here now, I could wear it and not melt during the ceremony, Master.]

“Oh, bless that man,” Tahl whispered a moment later, wiping tears from her eyes as she leaned against Micah.  “Bless, bless, bless Plo Koon.” 

[What’s wrong, Master Tahl?] the Wookiee girl asked, howling in concern when she noticed Tahl’s distress.

Qui-Gon hugged his Padawan.  Bless Plo Koon, indeed.  “This robe once belonged to Master Tyvokka.  Both Master Koon and Master Tahl were Tyvokka’s Padawans, Rillian.”

[Oh,] Rillian said, her gray-green eyes huge.  [Should I—should I keep it on?  I mean, is it disrespectful, or—]

He placed a finger over her lips before Rillian could panic further.  “Padawan, if he gifted it to you, then you shall wear it whenever you like.  He meant the gift to be used, not placed under glass in a museum.  We just didn’t expect such a thing.  Master Tyvokka has been part of the Force for many years.”

There was a knock on the door, followed by Mace opening it.  “I’ve been told that we’re ready,” he said, and then paused, taking in the tableau of Rillian and Qui-Gon.  “Force, the pair of you,” he said, shaking his head.  “Damn, you look good.  Take care of that, Padawan,” he continued, looking at Rillian.  “The last Wookiee to wear that robe was Head of the Order.”

Rillian nodded, her expression solemn as she bowed to Mace.  [Of course, Master Windu.  I wouldn’t dream of dishonoring Master Tyvokka’s memory.]

Mace smiled.  “Then let’s go.  You ready to get married, old man?”

Qui-Gon drew himself up to his full height and looked down at Mace.  “I,” he said haughtily.  “Am the younger half of this particular pairing.”

“Yes, you’re practically an Initiate,” Mace grinned.  “Padawan Raallandirr, lead the way—you remember where to go, yes?”  Rillian nodded.  “Micah, you’re next in line.  Tahl, you’re following.  Qui-Gon, you’re last, and you don’t go out onto that dais until everyone else is in place.  Ready?”

Qui-Gon held up his hand, halting the group’s steps before Rillian could lead them out.  “Micah, you…did remember the rings, didn’t you?”

Micah smiled.  “What rings?”

“Mic.”  The syllable was nothing more than a growl.

“Kidding!”

 

*          *          *          *

 

“You know, I still worry that I’ve insulted one of our friends by not asking everyone to stand up here with me,” Obi-Wan said, refolding one of Garen’s tabards when the unruly cloth twisted out of place.  His friend was wearing formal tunics that were dark purple, which looked surprisingly good with his dark hair and hazel eyes.  The black pants he’d paired them with made the outfit look more like court finery, which was difficult to accomplish on someone Garen’s size.

“Strangely enough, they all thought I was the best choice,” Garen said, catching Obi-Wan’s hands and grinning.  “Best friends, that whole shagging bit.  Besides, that dais wouldn’t hold us all.  Consider me a duly elected representative.”  He leaned forward and kissed Obi-Wan before Obi-Wan could move, but it was a chaste kiss, the simple press of lips against lips.  “Had to do that one last time before you’re off the market for good,” he teased.

“In case you’ve forgotten, you’re just about off the market, too,” Obi-Wan replied, reaching up to give his friend a gentle cuff on the skull.  “Behave.”

Owen ran up, just as energetic as he had been at their parents’ wedding three years ago.  He was wearing brown pants and a silky black tunic, in unintentional mimicry of Anakin.  “Master Windu says that everything is ready, and when everyone else is out on the dais, it’s our turn.”

They began walking, making their way down the long hall that led to the alcove on the right side of the dais.  Anakin looked up at him and then reached out to take Obi-Wan’s hand.  “Nervous?”

“No,” Obi-Wan said, glad it was true.  “Excited, I think.”  _Which was, perhaps, an understatement,_ he thought.  If it weren’t for his training, he might possibly be vibrating his way to the dais.

“Good,” Anakin said, grinning.  “Consider ourselves at a good vantage point.  You get to see him first.” 

They both turned their attention to the dais, Owen bouncing on the balls of his feet in front of them.  Their parents had chosen to be part of the audience for the ceremony, so it was only the four of them, but that had turned out to be a good balance.

Rillian came out first, dressed in a robe that Obi-Wan thought he recognized, a proud smile on her face.  She was still wearing her bandolier underneath, her blade hilt tucked into its traditional pocket.  She took her place on the dais, and nodded a greeting to the local priest who’d married Obi-Wan’s father and Shmi.

Micah followed a moment later, dressed in a much more expensive version of his favorite green and tan tunics.  The rich material gleamed under the Temple lights, and reflected a faint green sheen onto his lightsaber, displayed prominently at his hip.  Once everyone was on the dais, only Owen and the priest would be weaponless.  If someone was foolish enough to attack this particular wedding ceremony, they would be in for a very unpleasant surprise.

Tahl stepped out next, making her way unerringly to the point on the dais she was meant to occupy.  Her golden hair was twisted up in a pile on her head, with long strands of it hanging down here and there, accenting the long line of her neck and softening her features.  She was wearing pale yellow tunics over a long skirt, topped by the Archivist’s glyph-marked vestment that she rarely bothered with. 

“Wow,” Owen said, wide-eyed.

“Lookin’ good, Master Tahl,” Garen whispered under his breath.

Then Qui-Gon emerged from the far alcove, and Obi-Wan forgot to breathe. 

Qui-Gon’s hair had been pulled back in its traditional half-tail, but someone—Tahl, most likely—had also pulled two thick skeins of his hair forward to drape down his chest, both strands bound by wide leather cuffs.  The effect was striking, made even more so when Qui-Gon turned to acknowledge some silent comment of Micah’s, letting Obi-Wan see that the tail knot had been turned into a series of thin braids that intermingled with the rest of his unbound hair. 

Qui-Gon was wearing blue tunics the color of Kaazcint’s autumn sky, a perfect match to his eyes.  Instead of the traditional tabards, though, he was wearing a full-length, sleeveless coat that had been vented in the back, allowing the fabric to flow, cloak-like, with every step that Qui-Gon took.  His high, buckled boots, worn over a pair of soft black trousers, complimented the outfit perfectly.

 _Force bless Ris Dobbsan,_ Obi-Wan thought, aware of the fact that he was staring at his mate with his mouth hanging open and not caring a whit about it.  Qui-Gon Jinn was _worth_ staring at.  

The moment Qui-Gon had taken his place to the left side of the priest’s podium, Obi-Wan put his hand on Anakin’s shoulder.  “You lot better get out there before I run you down.”

Anakin snorted laughter and then straightened his shoulders.  “Yes, Master.  I told you so, Master,” he said, and walked out onto the dais before Obi-Wan could swat at him.

 

*          *          *          *

 

The moment the first of Obi-Wan’s Chosen—Anakin—stepped onto the dais, Qui-Gon felt his heartbeat pick up.  He still wasn’t nervous.  Instead, he felt like a kid in the creche on a holiday morning, ready to bounce in place out of sheer exhilaration. 

Owen came next, trying to look appropriately somber and failing utterly, his grin a parsec wide and growing by the moment. 

Garen followed him after Owen halted his steps, looking fierce and proud and, to Qui-Gon’s intense amusement, wearing the same shade of purple his hair had been, once upon a time.  He could feel Micah’s amusement through their old pairbond. 

 _Bastard,_ he sent, the thought full of fond warmth.  _You did that on purpose._

 _Qui-Gon, I do everything on purpose.  Now look at your mate and leave me alone,_ Micah replied, and Qui-Gon looked—and forgot about everything else.

Obi-Wan grinned at him; no doubt Qui-Gon looked as if he’d just been clobbered with a cooking implement.  Obi-Wan had cut his hair, the shortest Qui-Gon had seen it in several years, but this was no Padawan cut.  Whoever had gone after his mate with scissors had done a wonderful job.  Obi-Wan’s hair was just long enough in the front to give him a messy set of bangs that brushed his eyebrows.  It was cut over his ears and almost spike-short in the back, from what Qui-Gon could see.  The short hair didn’t make him look younger, not anymore.  It seemed to draw out the age and experience in Obi-Wan’s eyes, making his youth fade back in deference to his Mastery of the Force. 

He was wearing black, the color he’d refused to touch before.  Qui-Gon stared as Obi-Wan approached the podium, as shocked by the clothes as he’d been by the hair.  His tunics and trousers were back, offset only by Obi-Wan’s brown boots and the tabards—which were, to Qui-Gon’s joy, the same rich, emerald green as the shirt Obi-Wan had worn during their first coupling in the Temple showers. 

 _Breathe, Qui,_ Obi-Wan told him a moment later, reaching out to take his hands.

Qui-Gon obliged, realizing as he did so that there was a huge grin on his face, and he hadn’t been so pleased to be so surprised in his entire life.  _You look amazing._

Obi-Wan’s cheeks turned faint pink.  _You look edible,_ he replied.

The old priest, a man who called himself Vitchum, cleared his throat to gain their attention.  It was a good thing he did, because Qui-Gon was quite sure he would have missed the entire ceremony, otherwise. 

“We are all gathered here today, in sight of the universe, the gods, and the Force, to witness the marital vows of these two individuals, and to celebrate the bonding that they have already achieved.”  Vitchum smiled and rested his hands on the podium. 

“Today we will see the beauty of three different traditions, and be glad of them, because in the matters of the heart, we are all one.  As both of these men have requested that I keep the droning to a minimum—” there was a titter of laughter from the audience— “we shall bear witness to the vows.  Obi-Wan Kenobi, speak your vows and your heart, and let your words be witnessed by all.”

Obi-Wan smiled.  “I am Obi-Wan Kenobi, born Ben Lars, and named again for the At’talr who were my mother’s people.  I take Qui-Gon Jinn as my spouse, as the mate of my heart.  I will cherish him, honor him, in sickness and in health, until I pass into the Force.  And if I have to, I will wait there for him to join me, even if the universe crumbles to dust in the meantime.”

There was a shocked rush of applause at Obi-Wan’s words, as if everyone recognized the stark truth in what had been said.

Obi-Wan smiled and rolled up his left sleeve to just above his elbow, revealing one more surprise to Qui-Gon’s shocked eyes.  “I am At’talr, and I write my vows on my skin, sanctifying them with my own blood.  I will bear the name of my mate, and my promise to him, as long as this body draws breath.”

Qui-Gon could scarcely breathe as he reached out, tracing the words that wrapped Obi-Wan’s arm.  The script was recognizable as one of the older Alderaani styles that had passed out of favor, graceful and sharp-edged and perfect for what Obi-Wan had done.  He traced the words, reading the Lifebonding pledge, then the vows Obi-Wan had just spoken.  Every letter was colored with an ink that shifted as the words progressed, fading with perfect ease from green to blue to green again.  There was an indigo cuff at Obi-Wan’s wrist, glyphs from the older Aurebesh that held the basic meaning of the Jedi code in each sigil.  Another matching cuff encircled Obi-Wan’s upper arm, just above his elbow, where the vows ended. 

He swallowed around the thick lump that had formed in his throat.  “I have never been so honored, my love,” he said, gripping Obi-Wan’s hands with both of his own once more. 

Vitchum beamed at them.  “Qui-Gon Jinn, speak your vows and your heart, and let your words be witnessed by all.”

Qui-Gon was concerned that his voice might wobble, but his words were clear and strong when he spoke.  “I am Qui-Gon Jinn, lastborn of the dai’Jinn family of Rishi.  I take Obi-Wan Kenobi as my spouse and the mate of my heart.  I will cherish and honor him, in sickness or health, until death takes me into the Force.  And if the universe crumbles in the meantime, I shall be very cross.”

There was more laughter, at that, and Qui-Gon was certain that Yoda’s cackle was at the forefront.

“Mic?”  He had only to speak his friend’s name, and Micah pulled out a small black box, levitating it over with the Force.  Rillian watched it float by her nose with an amused grunt of laughter. 

Qui-Gon took the box out of the air, holding it for a moment in his hands and savoring Obi-Wan’s curious look.  Two of them could play at this “surprise” thing.  “I have almost nothing of my family, and do not use the term lastborn lightly,” he said, staring into Obi-Wan’s eyes.  “But I was fortunate enough to be given this.”

Qui-Gon opened the box, showing Obi-Wan its contents.  Nestled inside on soft black padding were two silver rings, both of them recently shined and polished after having been re-sized to fit their hands.  There was no adornment on the rings save one thing—a thin black stripe of stone inset in the middle, wrapping all the way around the silver bands.

Qui-Gon picked up the slightly smaller ring and handed it to Obi-Wan, who took it with fingers that trembled slightly.  Obi-Wan held the ring up, watching as light struck the black stone, revealing the red-gold undertones beneath. 

“Oh,” he whispered.  “It’s from your river.  The River of Light.”

Qui-Gon nodded.  “My father made these, a long time ago.  They’ve never been worn.  The tradition is a little bit different than Core Standard,” he said, and took the ring from Obi-Wan, gripping his mate’s left hand gently.  Then he slid the band into place on Obi-Wan’s middle finger, relieved that the fit was almost perfect.  He’d had to guess, after all.  “The H’kig religious sect we shared a planet with believe that the central finger of a being’s hand has a direct path to the heart.”

Obi-Wan stared at the ring on his hand for a moment, his lips parted.  Then, wordless, he took the other ring from the black box, slipping it onto the middle finger of Qui-Gon’s left hand.  “They’re beautiful,” Obi-Wan whispered. 

Qui-Gon grinned, feeling relieved and ridiculously happy.  “They are a part of my history, and I share it with you,” he said, making sure those watching heard his words as well.  He held up his hand, palm out, in invitation, and after a moment Obi-Wan lifted his own hand, pressing their palms together. 

Then his eyes widened.  “Oh!” he gasped.

The stones in the ring, recognizing each other, sang in the Force, revealing their joy at having been reunited once more.  The rings vibrated against their skin, resonating with the power of the Force captured in the stones.  Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan weren’t the only ones to notice; every Force-sensitive in the audience was whispering in awe and delight.

The old priest was grinning.  “Well, hells, that’s a new one on me,” he said softly.  Then he raised his voice.  “If anyone here is daft and stupid enough to have reason why these two should not be wed, speak now, and you’ll probably get your head bashed in by a bunch of angry Jedi.”

Their audience, family and friends and neighbors and allies, roared with approval at Vitchum’s words. 

Vitchum nodded.  “All right, then.  By the power I wield as a citizen of Kaazcint, I decree Obi-Wan Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn to be bonded in matrimony and the Force, for all time.”

A cheer went up, the volume doubling as Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon shared their first kiss as a married couple, and then Vitchum was hollering over the din once more.  “One more thing!” he yelled.  “There’s that third tradition I mentioned, folks!”

“Aw, c’mon!” a little voice yelled—Yan, the Kaleesh boy Owen spent most of his time with.  “It’s time for cake already!”

“Well, he still has his priorities in order,” Obi-Wan murmured, and Qui-Gon smiled.

“Master Windu, Master Yoda—the floor is yours,” Vitchum said, bowing his head before he stepped away from the podium.

Mace, in the audience with Yoda, Adi, and Plo Koon, grinned and stood up.  Yoda got down from the bench with him.  As if it were a rehearsed signal, every other Jedi lurking in the audience stood up as well: Bant Eerin, Reeft, Siri Tachi and Su’um-Va, Jale Terza and Abella, Adi Gallia and Plo, Jude Rozess and Quinlan Vos, Aayla Secura and Tuuvino.  Shmi stood up as well, remembering what was coming from her time in the Temple, and was joined by Padmé Amidala, Eve Koh, and Thol Heeniir.

Mace held up his arms, gaining the attention of the crowd with the simple gesture.  “Bondings in the Jedi Order are rare, for the life we lead is dangerous, and sometimes our time together is shorter than we would like,” he said, his voice carrying easily throughout the ancient Temple.  “While some of our bonded couples choose to get married, we also have a vow that we take, words that are meant to be spoken when a Lifebond is created between individuals who wish to share their hearts and minds.  Today, we recognize the Lifebond between Obi-Wan Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn, and take joy in it.  We are grateful for the time the Force has granted us to be with them today, as we all stand together and speak the words as one.”

Mace retrieved his lightsaber from his belt, igniting the violet blade.  Together the standing Jedi followed suit, filling the Temple with the light from many blades.  On the dais, Rillian, Tahl, Micah, Anakin, and Garen had ignited their own blades, and every hand moved as one to hold them aloft.

Obi-Wan rested his hand on Qui-Gon’s chest, just over his heart, and together they repeated the vows that had once saved Obi-Wan’s life.  _“Th’on swi et alla, A del de orrette.  Ye’ete pon far, y far ete.  Con swalla e’achu, y tana kio domtian eyua.  Faschu t faschu, cova t cova, lirnau t lirnau.”_

Their bond, recognizing the words, lit up, revealing its shining presence to anyone with the eyes to see.  It was a vast rope of shifting, brilliant color that wrapped around them, a far cry from the tiny thread it had been at its creation.  Even now, it seemed to pulse in time with their voices, gaining strength from Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan’s renewed pledge to each other.

The Jedi who surrounded them waited until they were done speaking, and then repeated the Lifebonding vows in Basic, both in respect and for the benefit of those who didn’t know the ancient tongue. 

_“Where you go, I will follow._

_My life is yours, and your life is mine._

_We stand together, and the Force binds us,_

_Heart to heart, mind to mind, soul to soul.”_

 

*          *          *          *

 

Obi-Wan, with Qui-Gon’s hand firmly gripped in his own, followed Vitchum to the priest’s office in the rear of the temple.  Together, he and Qui-Gon dealt with the paperwork that would make their marriage official inside the boundaries of the Republic as well as on Kaazcint. 

“Paperwork makes the galaxy go ‘round,” he quipped, after he’d signed his name far too many times on the pile of documents Vitchum had for them.

The dark-skinned man grinned his agreement.  “It’s a necessary evil, I’m afraid.  Being legally bound has its uses, though I don’t know if your Order needs the extra protection.”

Qui-Gon shrugged.  “Micah and Tahl seemed to believe it was a good idea to be legally wed after their bonding, so there must be something of value to it.”

By the time they returned to the Temple’s main chamber, the room had been transformed.  The long wooden benches had been replaced by individual tables surrounded by chairs.  There was a band on the dais tuning instruments, and looked to be the same crew that had played at the bonfire.  A long table along the far wall had been set up, and was straining under the weight of a great deal of food.  At the very end of that table was a tiered cake, surrounded by Yan, Owen, and the rest of the children their age, all of them looking at the confection with anticipation shining in their eyes.

“That was efficient,” Qui-Gon said, taking in the altered room.  “I should have expected it, considering we helped the last time, but I could have sworn we weren’t gone that long.”

Obi-Wan grinned and tugged on Qui-Gon’s hair, guiding his mate down for a thorough kiss.  “You know what?” he whispered, when he released both hair and lips.

“What?” Qui-Gon asked, raising an amused eyebrow.

“We’re married,” Obi-Wan confided, smiling.

“So we are,” Qui-Gon agreed, and smiled back at Obi-Wan, his eyes alight with joy.  “Wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“No, not at all,” Obi-Wan agreed, and then laughed as Qui-Gon picked him up and twirled them both around in a circle, pressing several kisses to Obi-Wan’s lips and cheeks as he did so.

The reception went as flawlessly as the ceremony, the food was fantastic, and the cake was orgasmic.  Tahl took one bite of it before she moaned in bliss.  “You win, Obi-Wan,” she said, while Micah chuckled.  “Oh, Force, what a way to get your daily caffeine intake!”

“I think I’m glad it’s expensive, or else we’d all explode,” Obi-Wan said in agreement, but despite the wonderful flavor of smooth green tea the cake had been imbued with, he was paying far more attention to the warm hand resting on his thigh.  In fact, since the ceremony had ended, his only prevailing thought was to get his mate somewhere private so Obi-Wan could peel off those layers of blue tunic and taste what was underneath.

 _I was doing just fine until you had that thought,_ Qui-Gon grumbled, and the hand on Obi-Wan’s leg tightened. 

Dancing followed the cake, whereupon tradition decreed that Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon danced first.  This was fine by Obi-Wan, but it would have been a lot more pleasant if they were alone, because the slow music and his mate’s scent and nearness was doing things to his anatomy that he wasn’t in the mood to share with anyone else. 

 _Tunics are my very good friend,_ he thought, and Qui-Gon buried his face against Obi-Wan’s shoulder and laughed. 

Then the next song began, and the dance floor was soon flush with couples who wanted to share in the moment, or be reminded of their own.  By the third song, Anakin had worked up the courage to ask Padmé to dance, and after that the two of them were inseparable, whether the song was slow, fast, or a game to be played with a group. 

Shmi danced when her energy levels allowed her to do so, though she gave Cliegg a very stern look if he tried to coax her out for anything more energetic than a soft ballad. 

The Jedi couples who had come paired together stayed together, enjoying the rare free time to just be with their chosen partner.  Adi even managed to coax Mace out onto the dance floor for the more energetic dances, which amused them all and fooled no one. 

Rillian, her new robe swirling around her, was teaching the teenagers of Falaft snatches of katas from the Wookiee martial arts, moves that doubled as dancing when the music was fierce and the beat steady. 

The third time the song was slow, Obi-Wan swayed in place, his cheek resting on Qui-Gon’s chest.  Qui-Gon’s arms were wrapped around his back, and Obi-Wan’s arms were secured around Qui-Gon’s waist.  The song the band played had no lyrics, but he did, and he sang them to Qui-Gon in a soft voice, words meant for their ears alone.

_“My face is painted in shadow_

_In this world of things between_

_Bound by covenants unbroken_

_By the sun and world I see_

_Show me how to follow you_

_With shoulders bent and pieces broken_

_The rising tide is shining_

_Like the sun of the world I see_

_I am haunted by the grace_

_Of a memory_

_In light and sun and sand and sea_

_Wind is hollow as it breathes with me_

_You remember me as I lay dying_

_But that is when I began to breathe_

_Unfettered by foolish notions_

_Of what time and destiny should bring_

_I wrap my arms in memory_

_Reminders for my heart to sing_

_Carry on in peaceful joy_

_For what time and destiny will bring.”_

“Force and gods, but I love you,” Qui-Gon whispered, his voice choked, and his arms tightened around Obi-Wan.  “I have no words for it, not the way you do—”

“I don’t need words,” Obi-Wan replied, lifting his head and catching sight of the tears that fell from Qui-Gon’s eyes.  He brushed them away with his fingers and smiled.  “You tell me every day, with your eyes and your hands and your spirit.  What else is there?”

Qui-Gon cupped Obi-Wan’s face with his hands, bent down and kissed him, and the bond flared again in approval as they shared their hearts with each other. 

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Qui-Gon murmured, and Obi-Wan signaled his agreement by taking Qui-Gon’s hand and leading him from the dance floor.

Vitchum had already retrieved their packs, and was waiting behind the temple with a speeder when they emerged into the twilight.  “Thought you weren’t going to last much longer,” the old priest said, grinning as he waved a hand towards the speeder.  “Ready to go?”

“More than,” Qui-Gon said, settling into the back of the craft.  Obi-Wan sat down next to him, pressing himself firmly against Qui-Gon’s side.  “Where are we going, anyway?”

“You’ll see,” Vitchum smiled.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Their sanctuary turned out to be a cabin.  Obi-Wan saw it and laughed so hard he was afraid he was going to rupture something, leaving Qui-Gon to explain just what, exactly, Obi-Wan found so funny.

“Well, it’s got running water,” Vitchum drawled in response, handing Qui-Gon a key while Obi-Wan wiped his face, still hiccupping laughter.  “Really, it’s got all the amenities of a five-star resort, except you have to cook your own food,” the priest said.  “This is a sacred place that we built a long time ago, meant to be reserved for those who’ve just bonded.  No one will come near it while you’re here, but if there’s an emergency, it does have a working comm with outgoing signal only.”

Vitchum got back into the speeder after their packs had been unloaded.  “There’s fresh sheets on the bed, and dinner is waiting on the stove.  After that, you’ve got a well-stocked pantry, and you’re on your own until next week.  Have fun, boys,” he said, and took off.

Obi-Wan was still laughing when he followed Qui-Gon up to the cabin door, waiting for Qui-Gon to unlock it with the metal key.  “Cabin,” he said again, and snickered.

“But no icy streams,” Qui-Gon pointed out, waving Obi-Wan inside.

The moment the door was closed behind them, Obi-Wan pounced, pressing Qui-Gon against the wall and sealing their lips together.  He shoved his hand into the v-line of Qui-Gon’s tunics and parted the cloth, then dipped his head and tasted the skin he’d been craving for _hours_. 

“It’s hardly been hours, love,” Qui-Gon rumbled, but his hands were kneading Obi-Wan’s ass, so Obi-Wan assumed the statement was more rhetorical than objection and continued licking, tracing a path up Qui-Gon’s neck with his tongue.

“You can argue semantics, or you can fuck me up against this wall,” Obi-Wan countered, murmuring the words into Qui-Gon’s ear.

To his delight, Qui-Gon complied by immediately picking him up and reversing their positions, shoving Obi-Wan against the rough wood of the wall while his hands worked at unbuckling Obi-Wan’s belt.  “What is the point of all of these clothes if they’re so damned hard to get off afterwards?” Qui-Gon muttered the complaint, letting the belt fall to the floor before hunting under the edge of Obi-Wan’s tunics for the waistband of his pants.

“I think it’s for everyone else,” Obi-Wan replied, lifting one foot and shaking his boot off before he could get tangled in cloth that was rapidly approaching his ankles.  “Then again, most Kaazcint couples don’t have a bond that’s driving. Them. To. Distraction!”  The last word ended on a whimper when Qui-Gon pressed their groins together at the same instant as he dipped a finger into the cleft of Obi-Wan’s ass.

Qui-Gon released a startled breath and buried his face against the side of Obi-Wan’s neck.  “You went through the entire ceremony oiled and waiting for me?  And you call _me_ an evil tease?”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but grin.  “Practical, not teasing.  I remembered the—the part of the ceremony—” It was getting rather hard to talk, or think, with two fingers plunged deep inside him, stroking his prostate.  “When—when—”

“Shut up,” Qui-Gon told him, smiling, and lifted Obi-Wan up.  Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around Qui-Gon’s neck and his legs around Qui-Gon’s waist, and groaned at the feel of cloth and hardness against his bottom.  Judicious use of the Force be _damned_.  Obi-Wan used it to free his mate’s cock from the imprisoning trousers and sighed in pleasure when at last he could feel silky heat sliding against him, pre-cum mixing with oil and bathing him in sensation.  For a moment he just stopped and felt: wall at his back, trapped between it and Qui-Gon, hard cock just shy of plunging into him, scent and soap and sweat and heat. 

 _Gods, I love you,_ he thought.

Qui-Gon kissed him, his tongue darting out to tease in quick flicks.  _Love you._   Out loud he said, “Help me,” and Obi-Wan braced himself against the wall and shifted his hips, and in one swift plunge he was filled and it drove all of the air from his lungs.

“All right?” Qui-Gon whispered, holding them both, patient but near-vibrating with the intensity they could both feel egging them on. 

 _Bond compulsion,_ Obi-Wan finally managed to finish in his head, bemused. _As if we needed the encouragement._   “I’m absolutely fantastic,” he said, and Qui-Gon pulled out and then thrust in all the way once more.  At that point, Obi-Wan stopped worrying about anything else and just let go, allowing his head drop back, eyes closed, mouth open, and Qui-Gon drove his cock into him over and over.  With each thrust their bond flared ever brighter, growing stronger as it prepared for the last step needed for true consummation.  Obi-Wan was so hard it was almost pain, and the moment Qui-Gon touched him it set off fireworks behind his eyes, and his entire body shuddered. 

“Yessss,” Qui-Gon hissed out, squeezing roughly at Obi-Wan’s cock, and it felt like perfection.  “I want you to come, right now, with me.”

He couldn’t reply, not even if he’d had words, because Qui-Gon was thrusting faster into him, and each thrust was timed with a squeeze and then he _was screaming_ —Obi-Wan could feel his release and Qui-Gon’s as his mate pounded every spasm into him.  He wasn’t the only one; Qui-Gon was moaning, a long, low sound that sounded like pleasure and pain together, and the spasms of orgasm made him shudder.  Then they were both collapsing to the floor, tangled together, panting for breath.

Obi-Wan reached over and brushed strands of hair from Qui-Gon’s face where sweat had glued them in place.  Qui-Gon caught his hand and pressed a kiss into Obi-Wan’s palm without opening his eyes, and it was like a decision had been made without discussion needed.  Obi-Wan crawled up on top of Qui-Gon, lying so that he could rest his head on Qui-Gon’s chest.  They breathed together, one breath after the next, and in that moment they needed nothing else.

**Author's Note:**

> I forgot to give credit for the music involved in this chapter, before--not intentional, just a lapse.
> 
> *Theory of a Deadman - Sacrifice  
> *Pink - I'm Not Dead  
> *Original composition  
> *Original composition


End file.
